Rise Extras
by Oni-Gil
Summary: A companion piece to "Rise." In other words, everything that happens when Nova's not around. SPOILERS FOR RISE.
1. Fall

**A/N: **This is a companion piece to my story Rise, so you should DEFINITELY check that first. Because Rise is in first-person, we tend to miss things that happen without Nova around. The Extras are designed to fill in the Rise universe.

**THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS UP UNTIL CHAPTER 17. BIIIIG SPOILERS.**

For more Rise fun, look on my profile for a link to Rise Revolution, the Livejournal community where a bunch of AUs will be posted!

Extra 1 corresponds with Chapter 17: Duel.

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**Extra 1- Fall**

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I could just _see_ the history datapads: "The Decepticons were forced into slavery; the chain of command was broken, trines split, commanders divided from their troops. The Autobots took every precaution to ensure that their fallen foes would never pose a threat again.

"But they missed something. Safe in one Decepticon's Spark chamber, Megatron's sparkling, heir to the Decepticon Empire, waited to rise."

_Ugh_. There were so many things wrong with that statement. First of all, "Megatron's sparkling." Those two words did _not_ go together. Why would Megatron have a sparkling? Foresight? Not sentimentality, that was more Prime's style.

Second, "heir to the Decepticon Empire?" It was _infuriating_. It was _unfair_. _I_ was Megatron's second-in-command! _I_ should have been the one to take control of the Decepticons after Megatron's termination at Axis. _I_ should have been the one to defeat him!

The last thing wrong with that statement was that the Spark chamber in question was _my_ Spark chamber. I was the lucky mech who had to carry this… this _parasite_ until it was ready to emerge, likely with a great deal of pain on my part. Because I was a Seeker, Primus slag it all, and I could carry a second Spark in my casing, and femmes were scarce, and I was apparently the one Seeker perfectly suited to producing Megatron's unholy spawn.

The memory was still fresh. If I shuttered my optics I could still see him above me, large, powerful, frightening. When I recharged, exhausted by the ever-increasing amounts of strength the new Spark sapped from me, I dreamed of it still. The weight of him on me, the glow of his optics, the heat of Sparkmerge burning through my very core… These visions jolted me out of recharge, overheated and shuddering. Would these nightmares never cease as long as the Spark created from our bond pulsed against mine? Would I always be haunted by Megatron's ghost through his creation?

I already hated the sparkling I carried, _loathed_ it, and I hadn't even seen the slagging thing yet, and wouldn't for another vorn or so. Another vorn of torture, of pangs which sometimes made my legs wobble, of practically starving because of all the extra energy siphoned to my Spark chamber, of those slagging _dreams_. This creature inside of me was an extension of Megatron—couldn't he just die like any other mech? Never! He had to find a way to torment me from the scrap heap.

If I'd had a choice, I would have destroyed it. At the risk of deactivating myself I would have extracted it from my casing or, if things were dire, allow another the privilege, but the choice wasn't mine. I saw it again in my memory each time I considered destroying the helpless young Spark—the oaths Megatron had forced me into while our Sparks were merged. I had sworn under Spark-bond. As much satisfaction as destroying the last of Megatron would give me, I wasn't keen on offlining, not while there was the slightest chance that the Decepticons would return to power.

And we _would_ return to power, even if it took vorns… even if it took a hundred vorns.

I was sent to Iacon and put on a work crew, rebuilding the Autobots' precious city piece by painstaking piece. I was not allowed to fly… they disabled my thrusters, even if I gave them a good fight first. We were roused from recharge at the first megacycle of the morning and sent out in teams, each guarded by an Autobot overseer. The groupings were shuffled every so often to prevent camaraderie between slaves. We worked without stopping until the first megacycle of the afternoon, when we were allowed five breems to rest before starting again. We worked until the light fled, sometimes later, and returned to our meager barracks for one measly cube of energon and an all-too-brief recharge.

I offlined most of my nonvitals to conserve energon. I would need every drop to supply the parasitic Spark with the energy it needed. I couldn't let anyone know about Megatron's sparkling… even if I'd _wanted_ to, I couldn't have. The more who knew that I carried a sparkling, the more danger there would be.

In addition to siphoning off my reserves, the extra Spark had other ill effects on my systems. I was far more tired than the others by the time the night cycle came, barely able to process. If the Spark pulsed in a certain way against mine, it could drive me almost to overload before shifting back into its dormant rhythm. And sometimes I would suffer sudden moments of weakness, when all of my energy seemed to evaporate. Needless to say, it was impossible to hide these odd quirks while on a work crew. The first time I collapsed, the overseer came at me, snapping his electrowhip in the air.

"Get back on the line," he said threateningly. I kept my mouth shut and glared at him, trying to muster up my strength and failing. He snapped the whip smartly against my wingtips and I flinched. "Get up," he reiterated.

"I _can't_," I ground out. He hesitated, obviously unsure what to do. He was younger than I. Too young to remember how it was before the War. A silly protoform with his Spark set on the promise of an Autobot utopia.

"Do you need a medic?" he asked finally.

"No!" I said vehemently. At his confused look, I hastily added, "If you sent a medic to every collapsed slave, you'd have them collapsing left and right."

He processed this, then glared at me. "And if we gave every collapsed slave a break, we'd have the same thing. So get up and get back to work!"

With a monumental effort, I heaved myself back to my landing struts and returned to my place, glaring at him the entire time.

This sparkling would be the death of me. If I hadn't moved around between work crews so often, no doubt my increasingly frequent collapses would have been noticed. As the orbits passed, I grew weaker each night. What would I do when the time came? Femmes grew the protoform from their cosmetic metal; Seekers required a protoform to be available at the time of birth. I would have to somehow release the Spark and transfer it into a protoform that I would somehow get my hands on – and then, oh, and _then_, I would have to _raise_ the thing.

But how could a sparkling survive if its creator had an existence such as mine? Could it survive if I had little energon to give it and even less time to devote to it?

The more I processed it, the more I came to the inevitable conclusion: I couldn't do this alone. I needed an ally or two, someone I could trust. And therein lay the problem. Who could I trust with my secret, with the sparkling's life-force and, by extension, my own? What sane Decepticon wouldn't take advantage of the situation?

I grew steadily weaker as the time approached, hating the sparkling more and more as it grew stronger within me. Some mornings, I felt too weak to move, let alone swing a pick all orn, but somehow I made it through each orn with my secret safe. I remained alone, not trusting my fellow Decepticons, haunted by growing fear, and the Spark I carried grew mature enough to live on its own. It was like carrying a compacted supernova in my chest, heavy and blazing hot. I never got used to the burden. Sometimes it fought to get out and I had to battle to hold it in – without a protoform, it would die.

Each time, it was harder and harder to hold it in, and I knew that soon it would be impossible. This sparkling wanted to be free.

It was a vorn since Axis when the creature inside of me finally tired of waiting. The second megacycle of the afternoon had just passed when pain lanced through my Spark, sending me crashing to my knees. The young Spark was agitated, pulsing and flaring, pushing against the side of my Spark chamber. Instinct written into my coding urged me to open my chest, but I held it closed with all my might. Everything happened quickly, several thoughts blazing through my processor one after the other. First that I had no protoform for the young Spark, then that I was out in the open, then that I needed help, then that I was alone. As soon as all of that had passed through my processor, all that was left was a terrible certainty: I was going to die. I was going to die.

I could only feel pain, coming in semi-regular spikes as the sparkling threw itself against the barrier of my chestplates and Spark casing. I could hear voices, but I paid no attention. Later I pieced together the scene: the overseer flicking his whip at me, seeing that I wasn't responding, shooing the rest back to work as he called a medic. The next clear image I had was the medic himself, having moved me to a secluded area, and I recognized him: Ratchet, friend of Optimus Prime, one of few Autobots worthy of my grudging respect. The pain was bearable now – he'd numbed my pain receptors, so all I felt was pressure and slight discomfort in my Spark casing.

"Let it go," he said calmly. "Let go. I've got it."

It was easier to relax without the pain. I didn't look to see him perform the transfer, focusing instead on the ceiling above me.

An energon cube was thrust before my optics. "Drink," Ratchet said gruffly. I sat up weakly and took the cube, gulping it down gratefully. He gave me another when the first was done, then a third.

"Why so much?" I croaked.

"You'll need it. This one's hungry." He held up a tiny metallic form which instantly began wailing at the top of its vocalizer when it saw me. I winced – he had my voice. Ratchet reached out, deftly pinched off one of my fuel lines and gently connected it to the protoform's torso. The sparkling quieted as pre-filtered fuel entered its system. Ratchet surveyed the setup, then held the protoform out to me. "I'm not going to stand here until he's finished."

I gingerly took the tiny form, feeling how soft and malleable his shell was. It would slowly conform to the coding in his Spark, requiring regular transfusions of metal as it grew until it had to be upgraded into its adolescent form. Some deep part of my programming guided me to hold it – him – gently, careful not to harm its delicate plating. He stirred fitfully and I crooned a soothing tone without thinking, lifting him to rest against my chest so he could feel the comforting warmth of his parent Spark. These were automatic reactions that I could no more fight than the need to drink energon.

It – he – had red optics, I realized. All of my bitterness vanished in an instant as I stared at the sparkling… _my_ sparkling. He was _mine._ He had come from my Spark casing, he carried my coding. And he… as much as I hated to admit it, he was Megatron's, also, heir to what remained of the Decepticons. I was bound to him by my oaths but also as his creator, the one who had carried his Spark and kept him safe and fed. And my work wasn't over. I would have to protect him, to influence and raise and care for him, to keep things together somehow so that he would have someone to lead when he was ready.

I realized then just how much power I held. Long, long ago, I had given myself to the Decepticon cause, wings and Spark. Now the true test of loyalty had come. Ironically, Megatron had trusted me with our future… the future of Cybertron. For whatever reason, he had chosen me. When he could have had somebody safely loyal, like Skywarp or even Thundercracker… he chose me. For whatever reason – I was good at staying alive, I needed to be taken down a notch, I was prettier than the others… or perhaps because he had confidence in my abilities, my dedication to the cause – he had bonded with _me_. And now the responsibility was mine, and I would not fail.

"Well, now that that's settled," Ratchet said, dragging me back to the present, "there are some things we need to talk about."

I glared at him, daring him to ask. He glared right back.

"This little mech is healthy," he said. "He integrated perfectly into his protoform. As long as he's kept fueled and happy, there's no need to worry. But I need to know who his other creator is."

I remained silent, my glare intensifying.

"It's important, Starscream. I need to be sure that there are no inherited errors in the coding."

"There aren't," I said.

Ratchet sighed through his vents but pressed me no further. A knock on the medbay door made us both look up.

"I took the liberty of calling in a friend," he said to me. "Come in!"

The door slid open and none other than Optimus Prime himself entered. I tensed, unconsciously clutching my sparkling closer. He looked surprised, as far as I could tell with his facemask on. His next words confirmed that hypothesis.

"Ratchet… is that a—?!"

"Stop staring," I snarled. "It's not like you've never seen a sparkling before."

I probably shouldn't have been so snappish. Prime had been remarkably civil to me in the orns just after Axis. He'd even pleaded my case before the reinstated Senate, keeping me from execution. Now, technically, I belonged to him, but I hadn't met him face-to-facemask since an orbit or two after the battle.

Prime just tilted his head, confused. "But where… how…?"

Ratchet explained everything, at least all that he knew, about Seekers' ability to bear sparklings, about being called over to examine me and realizing what was going on. Prime took it all in, nodding every so often. When Ratchet was finished, Prime looked at me. I could already tell that he was ready to ask some questions that I _did not_ _want_ to answer.

"How did this… happen?" he asked. It gave me a twisted pleasure in how awkward this type of thing would be for the Autobot leader.

"Well, you see, Prime, when a mech loves a femme, the cyberstork brings them a little sparkling…"

"Starscream," he interrupted. "I'm asking a serious question."

"And I'm telling you it's none of your business."

Prime sighed patiently. "No more questions about the past. However, the future must be considered. What will happen now?"

"I'm going to raise my sparkling."

Prime said nothing, but Ratchet snorted loudly. "And how will you take care of a sparkling when you're on a work crew?"

"I'll manage," I said shortly.

"No, you won't. You can't survive on less than a cube an orn for an extended period, and neither can he. And anyway, where are you going to keep him? He can't go out with you every orn and he can't be alone for megacycles at a time. And you can't put him into one of our nurseries. Chances are they'll leave him to starve while the take care of the Autobot sparklings."

"Well, then, what do you suggest I do?" I snarled, voice rising as I lost control of my panic. I hid it under anger. "I won't give him to some Autobot nursemaid to raise at arm's length."

"You can't give him away at all," Ratchet pointed out. "He won't take energon from anyone else until his processor's developed enough to tell him it's all right."

"I'll find a way."

Ratchet growled, but Prime halted him with a raised hand. "I understand that you don't like asking for help," he said. "Obviously you don't need it. But he does." He gestured to the tiny form I held. "You can't keep him forever, Starscream. Slavery is… no place for a sparkling. He had no part in the War. He deserves to grow up free."

Instinctive terror clamored in my Spark. They were going to take him away. They were going to take _my sparkling_ away. Prime must have noticed the warning signs, for he held out an appeasing hand.

"It won't be for several vorns," he reassured me. "As Ratchet said, he won't take energon from anyone else until he is older."

"When his memory begins to form," Ratchet said. Both of us looked at him. "That's more than long enough. About eight vorns. Ought to satisfy your motherhenning."

"_You_—!… his memory?" I balked. "Then… he won't remember me."

"It's for the best," Prime said gently.

"You want to take _my_ sparkling and raise him as an _Autobot?!_"

"Would you rather he be raised a slave?" Ratchet pointed out. "If he's raised a slave you'll be separated for good."

"What do you mean?"

"He's a Seeker. The Senate won't let you be together, no matter what. If he's free, he stays."

"But how?" I asked. "Where will he go? What Autobot will take in a Seeker protoform?"

"I will," answered Prime. "I will raise him as my own, and the Senate wouldn't dare question me. Under their law, you belong to me… I give you now to him. You won't be parted forever. When the time comes, he will be your master."

_You don't know how right you are, Prime,_ I thought, but instead I nodded. "And when is that?" Prime deliberated, but I answered my own question. "When he is old enough, I must teach him to fly. Fifteen to twenty vorns ought to do it."

"Acceptable."

I restrained a smirk. The timing would be perfect. As an adolescent, all of his opinions would be up in the air, his mind open to change, his Spark eager to rebel. Ideally a young Seeker would be led into the air much sooner, but I needed to be able to manipulate my sparkling in his most chaotic vorns.

Prime drifted a bit closer. "Does he have a designation?"

I stroked the sparkling's helm, making him chirr softly and shift in my arms, snuggling close to my chest. I had thought of a designation for the tiny Seeker. It was a distant echo from some mostly-forgotten time, possessing of a double meaning which seemed appropriate: one, a cosmic phenomenon befitting a winglet; two, a rebirth… of conflict, of Megatron, perhaps, of the Decepticons.

"Nova," I purred, giving the miniature helm a fond tap. "His designation is Nova."


	2. Before Spark

**A/N: **Extra 2 takes place shortly before the battle at the Axis cluster.

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**Extra 2- Before Spark**

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The average scene aboard the _Nemesis._ Most Decepticons were hidden safely in their quarters or otherwise keeping out of the way; the thrill-seekers were in the command center to watch the show. It was only a matter of time, even on a lazy orn like this, when Megatron seemed to be taking a break from destroying the Autobots, when something was bound to happen because something was _always_ bound to happen when the wild 'cons hung in space. There would be some form of entertainment available, and those brave enough to watch waited surreptitiously on the bridge of the _Nemesis_ to observe their commanders. Energon cubes and credits rode on which would lose it first.

The one sat unrelaxed on his throne, staring off into space as though imagining conquest; the other stood apart, now pacing back and forth, now stopping to stare at his commander, now looking out, restless crimson optics darting from star to star outside the viewport.

The tension built like a brewing storm. The bridge seemed oppressively hot; the pressure put everyone on edge.

There was the Look. There was the first snide comment from subordinate to commander; glances in the ranks demanded each other to pay up, because the Seeker had been the first to snap—he often was. The retort. The argument. Mechs turned in their duty stations to watch.

The words varied on the theme of leadership and competence and cowardice and power. Up went the volume, up went the one previously on the throne. The smaller mech refused to back down; he should have known better by now.

Up went the fists and back flew the Seeker. Hands rose to provide a flimsy shield for his face; the cannon came up, glowing with pink energy at the tip, humming dangerously, and the excitement in the audience was like the crackle and snap of static electricity. They waited.

And kept waiting. Looked around, confused. Saw the cannon ready still, buzzing still, leveled at the other's cockpit, but not firing.

Silence, but for the cannon's hum. Nobody cycled an intake, hardly a fuel pump beat. The suspense mounted higher. Something was happening between the two, some silent conversation without transmissions or databursts, just two sets of optics burning into each other. One glanced down to the imminent destruction shining in the cannon, then down to his own chest, then back up to the other's face. The other followed his gaze to the Seeker's chest, then back up to his optics.

An eternity passed in a klik.

Then the cannon powered down, its low hum dying angrily, the glow fading. Nobody moved. Nobody dared. Even the Seeker, saved from sudden painful termination, didn't speak, didn't shutter an optic.

Finally the large mech drew back a massive fist and punched him in the face, knocking him down with a clang, and the collective intake was released. Talk resumed in a low buzz; the large mech returned to his throne; the Seeker picked himself up, hand splayed out over dented faceplates but unmistakably grateful to be alive, and retreated to the medbay. The optics of the large mech followed him before returning to their distant contemplation.

An average scene aboard the _Nemesis_.


	3. Prime

**A/N:** Extra 3 takes place during Chapter 16.

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**Extra 3- Prime**

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The skies over Tarn were filled with smoke. Further beyond Optimus Prime could just make out the few remaining towers of Kaon, birthplace and base of the Decepticon rebellion.

_"You will get to Kaon by any means necessary. You will apprehend all Decepticons gathered there and terminate any who resist."_ The Senate had been exceptionally blunt in their demands. _"You will not stop, you will not retreat. Autobots control this planet. We do not fear them."_

Reports flooded his comm frequencies, and the more Prime processed, the more he could see that this was a losing battle. The Autobots had to fight not to be hemmed in by Decepticons coming at them from two sides, north and south. Years of fighting against the small force stationed on Earth had made him forget the power of the Decepticons, particularly their distinct aerial advantage. Anything that moved in the sky wore a Decepticon brand; metal flashing above was the only warning before a rain of death. The Autobots' fear and disgust of fliers had led to this. If the Senate had approved the creation of a true air force, then the Decepticon air supremacy would be challenged. But for now, the sky was the domain of Seekers, of shuttles and copters and gliders all wearing purple insignias.

Whenever Prime had a moment that he was not being attacked, he looked around. Something was missing. Something he had grown so used to. It had become habit to engage in single combat, to exchange words, insults, anything; in those days on Earth, battles often hung on those frenzied moments where two alone fought. This was the first battle in astrocycles where Prime had not fought him. He was searching for something that was not there.

He was looking for Megatron.

_The once-proud ship limped; the door to the bridge was jammed, and it only yielded to heavy firepower. The command center lay in disarray, scrap and glass lying everywhere. At first glance there was nothing there._

_Shots fired had made them all reconsider; one hapless mech fell before they scattered, weapons aimed. Prime remained where he'd come in, in the line of fire, but the enemy did not shoot at him. Starscream, half-mangled, crouching protectively over the ruin of his fallen leader, menacing Prime with charged null-rays._

_He never fired, only watched Prime warily through dimmed, half-crazed optics. Prime never knew what, if anything, had passed between the two of them, but Starscream had found what he was looking for, had toppled forward to lie across Megatron's frame._

He might have been redeemed. That thought had haunted Prime for a centivorns, perhaps longer. Megatron had not been completely lost… there may have been a part of him that fought injustice, a part of his Spark that may not have been all hatred.

But Prime had never gotten the chance to find out.

_He'd ensured that Megatron had been repaired. Even if no Spark resided behind the silver chestplate, it was a matter of respect. As soon as Ratchet had erased all traces of damage, it had been difficult to believe that Megatron was offline at all; he had always been the gray of death, and Prime had grown used to seeing it on him._

_But he was offline. Prime didn't know what compelled him to stand vigil over Megatron's remains after Ratchet had gone… he only knew that he must. For in some strange way, Optimus Prime felt that he had failed Megatron. He had failed to show him reason, to bring him up out of the pit of hatred into which he had sunk._

_It became apparent to him later, long after he himself had interred Megatron's frame into their most ancient vault, where the proudest warriors of their race slept, that he had even failed to bring about the justice that Megatron had once fought for; that the justice his Autobots had battled for had become the twisted reign of the Senate reborn._

_Had Megatron been right all along, he'd wondered? Had Prime fought on the wrong side?_

Instinct threw him to one side before lasers tore up the ground where he had been only a klik before. He brought up his rifle – perhaps the ritual combat between Autobot and Decepticon leaders had not died with Megatron. As a ritual there were certain unspoken rules, rules that even Starscream followed, for even he was not without his own convoluted code of ethics. The Seeker landed, null-rays charged and aimed, but there was no real threat from him. Optimus had done this often enough to read his enemies. Starscream had come not to fight, but to talk – to gloat, more likely.

Prime had no particular desire to fight Starscream. He, too, wanted to talk, if only to find that one piece of information that he desired. Starscream knew it, by the looks of him, that smug satisfaction he wore like a cloak.

"Prime. It's been a while."

"Starscream. Where is he?"

"Quite safe. Well, I suppose that depends on your gunners' aim. So I wouldn't worry."

Not enough. Not enough and Starscream knew it perfectly well. Starscream had the advantage here. He had the information that Prime wanted. _Needed_.

_"What price will you take for him?"_

_"I beg your pardon, Senator?"_

_"That one. I can offer you a great deal of credits. Or we can negotiate an exchange."_

_"He is not for sale."_

_"Come now, I'm willing to pay a reasonable sum. We can come to an agreement."_

_"I repeat, Senator, he is not for sale. He is a free mech."_

_"No Decepticon is a free mech."_

_"He is not a Decepticon. He is my ward and a free mech."_

"You don't need to give me that look, Prime. I've seen that slag loaded into the central network. You know exactly what happened, don't you? He came with us willingly. Everyone knows it. And yet you permitted them to claim that we kidnapped him. Did you not want to accept that he was one of us? That he's always been one of us?"

"He may wear your mark, Starscream, but he will never be one of you."

A derisive laugh was his reply. "How would you know? How would you know what he's like now, Prime? Away from your stifling hold, away from your Autobot drivel?" Starscream's smile remained sharp even as his face softened mockingly. "You want to take him back with you and turn him back into that sweet little Autobot sparkling you knew."

"Starscream."

"He isn't yours, Prime." The tone was biting. "No matter how much you wish he were. He is _mine_, and now he is where he belongs. He _chose_ this. What if I told you that he is everything a Decepticon should be? That he hates you for the lies you told him?"

"I would not believe you."

_There was no more denying it. Starscream was gone, his trinemates with him. Nova was gone along with them. It was entirely possible that he was responsible for the murder of the mech who lay dead in the street. Logic told Prime all he needed to know: the four had gone south, fleeing towards Kaon, and Nova was a Decepticon._

_Yet Prime could not reconcile this with his Nova. His Nova, who he had taught to seek the truth on his own, to respect life and freedom._

"I would know that you were lying, Starscream, because I know Nova far better than you ever will." Something that may have wanted to become a shriek of rage began from Starscream's vocalize, but Prime cut it off. "Because you may have given him his coding, his frame; you may have taught him to conquer the skies, to fight and kill. But I taught him to think, to feel… to learn for himself, to accept, to change. He went with you not to follow blindly, to trace your path and continue where you leave off, but to forge his own road. He went not because he accepted that you were right, but because he found his truth for himself. Nova is not mine, but he can never be yours."


	4. Appearance

**A/N: **This Extra takes place after Chapter 3, right after Nova is upgraded to his adult form.

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**Extra 4- Appearance**

* * *

The end of the War had left Optimus Prime with surprisingly little to do. For astrocycles everything had been activity, movement, planning, fighting. Occupying his processor had been easy back then; warfare had come easily, while peacetime was not what Prime had hoped it would be. Now there were too many questions.

Optimus disapproved of the handling of the defeated Decepticons, and he was disappointed that his fellow Autobots, mechs who he had known to fight for justice, were such strong supporters of slavery. Now each set of red optics seemed to judge him as he passed, whispering betrayal of those who had been promised fair treatment. He couldn't help but feel that he was partially responsible, that he had failed them—all of them, Decepticons and Autobots alike.

Now that Prime had little to do, he had to seek other ways to occupy himself. He went out into the city, feeling all optics on him wherever he went. Friendly, from the Autobots… not so from the Decepticons.

Optimus wound up in one of his favorite energon shops, favored by veterans of the War. The odds were good that he would run into an old comrade, and Prime enjoyed company. He sat with his cube and let his processor wander.

As it so often did these past few vorns, it wandered to Nova. Optimus had worried over him for nearly a centivorn, but never more so than now. When he'd seen Nova emerge from Ratchet's office in his adult form, for just a moment Optimus had seen Megatron. He'd felt Starscream stiffen beside him and realized that the Seeker, too, had suffered the same illusion. It was truly eerie: Nova's face looked like Megatron when Optimus first knew him, and he'd even unknowingly chosen colors that reflected Megatron's.

But seeing Nova proudly wearing his Seeker frame had filled Optimus with satisfaction. Nova, his Nova, had grown out of his hatred of the Decepticons and the self-hatred he'd denied so deeply that he hadn't even realized it. It gladdened Optimus to see that Nova had finally accepted his own Spark.

"Mind if I join you, Prime?"

Optimus looked up to see Ironhide, cube in hand, already lowering himself into the opposite seat. "Not at all, old friend."

"Watch who you're callin' 'old.' I may not be the newest model, but I'm not bound for the scrap heap just yet. What's on your processor?"

Prime sipped more of his energon. "Nova's new frame. It suits him, doesn't it?"

Ironhide's optics dimmed. "Kid's got bearings to be walkin' around like that."

"He's learned better than to care what others think of him."

"That's fine to a point, Prime." Ironhide glanced around furtively, lowering his voice. "But it's uncanny. Mechs're talkin' about it."

"They may talk all they want. The Senate has yet to outlaw that color scheme; there is nothing they can do to change it."

"It's _dangerous_, Prime. For Nova. You saw what happened at that party you held. I could have terminated him!"

Optimus chuckled. "Ironhide, my friend, I hope you'll forgive me for calling you both paranoid and trigger-happy."

"You want paranoid, show him to Red Alert – Primus, Red would blow a circuit! My point is it's dangerous. People get unsettled whenever Megatron is mentioned… who knows what they'll do if they see him walkin' around? Prime…" He lowered his voice even further. "There are rumors… Nova's Decepticon-Sparked, I can tell that right away, but mechs've been sayin'…"

"There's no proof of that, Ironhide. As far as I'm concerned, Nova is an Autobot. More than that, he is my ward – he has always been in my care, and I will protect him as though he were my own sparkling."

"Prime, you have to see—"

"Nova is free to choose his own frame. I'm proud that he didn't cave to those who would change him."

"I knew you'd say that. Well, if that's what you think, I can't change your mind. You can be awfully stubborn sometimes, Optimus."

* * *

It truly was uncanny, Optimus realized later, lost in thought as he watched the young Seeker curled up in the other chair, silently absorbing the contents of a datapad. Strange that he'd never truly noticed before, with all the time that Nova had spent here as a sparkling, silently sharing in Optimus's peace and quiet.

Was it possible? Optimus couldn't imagine his great rival ever wanting a sparkling, but perhaps it could happen… no. Megatron and Starscream had hated each other. They would never have created a new Spark together. It was a coincidence, that was all… Nova resembled Starscream more than anyone, with the slim frame and a Seeker's distinctive helm design…

"Optimus?"

He pulled from his musings and realized that Nova had been speaking to him. The younger mech watched him curiously.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes," Optimus answered, smiling at him. "I'm fine."

No, he decided. No, it was impossible. Nova was likely Thundercracker's sparkling, even Skywarp's.

And yet…


	5. Mate

**A/N: **This was originally written for the Advent Calendar at Rise Revolution. It takes place any time after Nova's arrival in Kaon.

Warning for Sparkmerge between male-identifying robots. But since you've read Rise, you ought to be used to it by now.

* * *

**Extra 5- Mate**

* * *

"One would hope that you would organize every few astrocycles."

Undertaker didn't answer right away, glossa pinned between his denta as he carefully sliced through the last few wires connecting the arm to the shredded torso. His function hadn't bothered him in a long, long time, but other mechs always seemed repulsed by it. He couldn't understand this. Dead was dead. Where did they think Hook got those replacement parts?

Finally he opened his mouth, though he still didn't look up from his delicate work. No sense damaging a perfectly good arm. "We can't all be obsessively organized. I'm surprised you've ventured out of your hallowed cave. It's been astrocycles since you've left that place."

"I felt the urge to… stretch my legs, so to speak."

"'Felt the urge?' The last time you left was an emergency. You never leave unless there's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and for a mech with your lifetime, that's rare. What are you really doing here, old friend?"

He maintained his steady hands as the Archivist leaned down beside him, peering closely at what he was doing.

"I only speak the truth. I merely wished to leave."

Undertaker knew that this was no mean feat. Part of his friend's reluctance to leave came from practicality – it was physically difficult for him to leave the Archives, having to disconnect himself after vorns upon vorns and seal the entire area. This was the reason that he never left except in dire situations. Undertaker wasn't always on top of the news from the surface, but he was sure he'd know if something huge were happening up there.

He finally tore his attention from the fragile cables and peered suspiciously at the older mech. "You just decided to go for a walk because you felt like it."

A lifted optic ridge and a nod was his answer. Undertaker frowned, narrowing his optics.

"It's him, isn't it?"

"Him?"

But Undertaker had known the other mech long enough to know how his processor worked. "You know who I mean."

The Archivist didn't answer.

"He's changing all of us," Undertaker went on absently. "He was in here his first day in Kaon."

"Yes, I know."

"You always know."

"I could sense it on him. There's a very distinctive energy signature about this room."

"I saw his Spark."

The Archivist looked interested. "I've always wondered, is it like Starscream's?"

"No. Spark mutations like that are one in a hundred million. But it was strong."

"I would expect no less from their sparkling. He came to me after leaving you, full of questions."

"I wonder how much of his Spark comes from Megaton."

"What would we know about Sparks, my friend?" the Archivist answered. "You, always here with the Sparkless dead, and I, locked away with nothing but their memories."

"I know about one," Undertaker murmured, his mouthplates bending into a smile for the first time in centivorns as his optics glowed slightly brighter. The Archivist smiled slowly back.

"It has been a long time, hasn't it?"

"Too long." Undertaker knew the reason the Archivist had ventured from his home for the first time in hundreds of vorns, quite apart from "stretching his legs." There was only so long that a bonded pair could remain separated.

He remembered it clearly, the orn he'd entered the Archives for the first time, seen the Archivist for the first time, suspended in his web of wires and cables. He'd felt such pity for him, trapped in that room, alone, unable to move or even recharge. But he remembered the immediate feeling of rightness in his Spark, and he remembered vividly when he'd finally approached the older mech about bonding. With Undertaker's Spark to support him, the Archivist had been able to detach himself from his Archives for the first time since the dawn of Cybertronian history.

They had been bondmates for a long, long time, longer than many of the Decepticons had even been online. There was nothing that one did that the other did not know about, nothing that one felt that the other did not.

"I've missed you," Undertaker admitted, reaching out to draw his mate closer.

"I know," the Archivist answered serenely, and that infernal eternal calm just begged for Undertaker to shatter it.

Their chestplates parted simultaneously, their systems so attuned that they operated in synchrony. Their Sparks were far more comfortable merged than not, so close to being one and the same that connection felt natural. Undertaker held the Archivist's thin, fragile frame with the same delicacy that he would devote to precious, flimsy circuitry. The warmth of Sparkmerge washed over both of them and the Archivist gave a soft sigh, letting his self spill out to meet Undertaker's, the emotions he could not afford, the passion he never showed. From Undertaker came loneliness, darkness, and their flaws were washed away by the rest of it, the warm sea of devotion emanating from one snugly joined Spark.

It ended all too soon; the Archivist remained ever-conscious of each of their identities, keeping them from merging too completely and never separating. Undertaker continued to hold him as their chestplates closed, still immersed in the contentment and pleasure of his mate's presence.

"You should venture out of your hole more often," he murmured.

"You should come to me next time," the Archivist answered with a smile, a genuine smile, small and fleeting but _there_. "I haven't seen you out of this place in centivorns either. I'm not returning here until you clean it."

Undertaker made a mournful sound. "Very well, I'll come to you," he relented. Better that than to clean up. It may have looked like a mess to any other mech, but this room was arranged just so. He pressed his mouthplates to his mate's auditory sensor. "If you promise to keep quiet. We wouldn't want to disturb anyone, would we?"


	6. Birthday

**A/N:** Originally written for Rise's birthday. Takes place when Nova was a sparkling.

**Warning:** May induce cavities.

* * *

**Extra 6- Birthday**

* * *

Two vorns since Axis and Optimus Prime was still negotiating with the Senate on the matter of Starscream.

"I assure you, Senator," he said for the fifth time, "that he is well guarded."

"And yet my contacts report that he's hardly been spotted for the past vorn. He requires constant supervision, Prime. The Decepticons cannot be allowed to return to power, and as such their leader must be…"

"There will always be a leader," Optimus answered steadily. "If not Starscream, then another Decepticon will come forward and take control. You cannot break the chain of command so easily. I have arranged the highest security around Starscream."

"The people require complete transparency! The Senate would feel far more comfortable if he were imprisoned."

"Starscream is otherwise occupied in a task of great importance."

"So you say. What 'task' is it that keeps him so hidden?"

Optimus hated having to resort to these tactics, bending to the Senate's level. "You gifted Starscream to me. I own him, and what work I assign to him is my own business. I have the Autobots' complete confidence… you would do well to remember that." He stood to his full height, knowing well that his imposing structure alone would keep the Senator from stopping him. "If you will excuse me, Senator, I have other matters to attend to."

* * *

"All right," Ratchet announced, his various diagnostic tools disappearing into compartments in his arms and hands. "As healthy a sparkling as I've ever seen. Down you get."

Nova chirred happily at finally being allowed to move, looked dubiously over the edge of the table, and looked up at his creator, chirping in concern. Starscream didn't move to help. Ratchet reached out to lift the tiny Seeker down, but Starscream's scratchy voice stopped him.

"Let him do it on his own."

"Primus, if you had your way he'd be scrounging for energon on the streets," Ratchet grumbled, rounding on Starscream. "Do you Decepticons always let your sparklings face the world alone?"

"It's worked fine for astrocycles," Starscream answered primly, though his watchful optics remained on his sparkling. "It teaches them independence."

"Sure, the ones who _survive_."

"The weak are removed from the population. Only the strong survive."

There was a metallic clack, then a thump, and Starscream's mouthplates curved slightly upward. Ratchet turned to see Nova sitting on the ground, perfectly unhurt. After a moment the winglet scrambled to his thrusters and hurried to stand by Starscream, reaching to curl one hand around the older Seeker's knee. Starscream picked him up easily and Nova chirruped, kicking his pedes. Starscream clicked back before noticing that Ratchet was fishing about for an energon goodie.

"Don't give him that, you'll spoil him," he warned. Ratchet frowned.

"He was better than most sparklings about sitting still for a breem or two," he replied. "Kid deserves it."

"It was through hard practice that he grew so disciplined," Starscream retorted. "You notice that your soft Autobot sparklings are the troublemakers. If you'll excuse us."

Ratchet shook his head and packed up the rest of his equipment, muttering something about Seekers and Decepticons as he left. Nova made a soft, disappointed sound and gazed longingly after the energon goodie.

* * *

Optimus pressed the doorchime and waited. After half a cycle he sighed and opened the door anyway; Starscream's door did not have a lock, though it was always closed.

He entered to see Starscream sitting on the berth, watching Nova struggle with something on the floor. It looked like a few scraps of metal that had been twisted and looped around each other… Starscream must have somehow made it himself out of whatever he could find. He certainly hadn't asked Prime for anything, which was just like him. Starscream was too proud to beg for help to make his life – or his sparkling's – more comfortable.

"What's that?" Prime asked. The Seeker barely looked at him.

"A logic puzzle."

"He's barely a vorn old," Optimus protested, but Starscream didn't seem to care.

"Don't let him ask for help, he's almost got it."

Optimus sighed again. While every creator wanted the best for his sparkling, Starscream's expectations were set too high.

Even as he thought this, there was a click and Nova cooed happily, getting to his pedes and showing Starscream what he had accomplished.

"Good," Starscream answered, warmth creeping into his voice. "_Very_ good, Nova."

The sparkling squeaked and trundled over to Optimus next, holding up his puzzle with a look of triumph on his tiny face. Prime's Spark warmed. Although Nova had no proper memory yet, sparkling instinct led him to recognize certain concepts such as recharge, energon, and washracks. He recognized Starscream as his creator, and, surprisingly, he seemed to recognize Optimus as well. Prime couldn't imagine how he appeared to the sparkling or how he was remembered in the simple young processor, but Nova knew him all the same, smiling proudly and clicking something indecipherable.

"Very good, Nova," Optimus assured him, bending down to gently pat the winglet's tiny helm.

"Don't coddle him," Starscream reprimanded at once. "Nova, come here."

"Wait a moment, Starscream." Nova stopped where he'd begun to scamper to his creator's side, turning to look up at Optimus again. "I have something for him."

The former Decepticon Air Commander scowled. "If you've gone and bought him presents, Prime, so help me…"

"He's a protoform, Starscream." Prime pulled a datapad from his subspace, extra resilient for uncoordinated sparklings, and presented it to Nova, who took it with a chirp of thanks. Starscream glared suspiciously.

"If that's all, Prime—"

The Seeker gave a squawk of protest as Prime reached into his subspace again and brought out an entire handful of energon goodies. Nova clicked and chirred in excitement, taking the candy after a furtive glance backwards at Starscream. He stuck one into his mouth and sat down on the spot, optics going wide and bright. His little engines purred happily.

"Prime! What do you think you're doing, giving him things like that? You'll spoil him rottmmph!"

"Every sparkling deserves to be spoiled sometimes," Optimus answered, smiling beneath his mask as Starscream worked around the energon goodie Prime had popped into his mouth. He felt a tap on his shin and looked down to see Nova reaching up, offering him one of the candies. "Thank you," he said, reaching down to take the gift. Nova beamed. "Happy creation date anniversary, Nova."


	7. Home

**A/N:** More ickle Nova? Why, yes.

This chapter also mentions an event that I think I've alluded to before, but I'm interested that nobody asked about it.

* * *

**Extra 7- Home**

* * *

"Woah, slow down there, little guy – woah."

The white Autobot put steadying hands on the sparkling's shoulders as it wobbled, thrown off by its headlong crash into the larger mech. Jazz took in the tiny, quivering wings and red optics and wondered what the Pit he'd just gotten himself into.

* * *

The sparkling was too young to talk. He clicked and chittered while Jazz tried to decipher what he was saying. The sparkling was riding in Jazz's altmode now, staring out of the window with wide optics, while Jazz was just hoping to get the kid back to his apartment before anyone saw him with a baby Decepticon in his seat.

"Where'd you come from, little guy?" he asked, not expecting an answer. "Did you run off and get lost?"

The sparkling cooed, batting at the speakers. Jazz's voice seemed to soothe him, so he kept talking.

"Lucky the Senate didn't spot you, little guy. I dunno who you belong to, but I bet your creators're worried sick. Hey, hey, little guy, what's up?"

The little Seeker had pressed his olfactory sensors to the window, pointing up insistently. They were passing near Prime's estate, Jazz noticed.

"Prime's place? You know it?"

The sparkling chirred in what Jazz thought was an affirmative way.

"Huh. I guess you know Prime, then. How 'bout I give you a lift over there?"

Chirp.

Jazz changed direction, heading for Prime's home, his passenger bouncing on the seat. By the time he pulled to a stop, the sparkling was chattering in excitement. Jazz opened the door to let him out before transforming and lifting the sparkling onto his shoulders. The young Seeker trilled, stretching his hands towards the sky.

"Like that? Figures you'd dig heights."

Jazz carried him inside, waving cheerfully at mechs he knew. On top of his shoulders, the winglet chirped and imitated him. Jazz chuckled at the sparkling's antics, not worried that he'd fall and hurt himself – Seekers had an innate natural balance.

He asked around and tracked Prime to the third floor. When he entered the hall, his gaze was drawn to a flicker of movement – the edge of something red and white before it moved swiftly out of sight.

"Jazz…? Nova!"

Jazz barely had a moment to look at Optimus before the Prime was on him, gently lifting the sparkling from his shoulders. The sparkling – Nova – crooned a soft note, ducking his head mournfully.

"Yes, you know you've caused worry," Optimus said, deep voice relieved. "Where did you find him, Jazz?"

"Near here. Little guy ran right into me. I didn't know there was a little Seeker in Iacon."

"He is my ward. I was going to present him soon, once he's old enough to speak. Thank you for bringing him home."

Nova pointed at Jazz and chirped, clicking at Optimus.

"Does anyone understand that?"

"You know sparklings… they make up their own languages. But I believe he likes you."

Nova's engines purred.

"I'll take that as a yes," Jazz laughed. He lowered his voice. "Prime, what're you doing with a Decepticon sparkling? You know the Senate won't let this stand."

"I've already taken care of the Senate. Nova is not a Decepticon. He is an Autobot and my ward."

"Crazy." Jazz shook his head in disbelief. "Well, Prime, I gotta split. Make sure the kid doesn't run off again."

Nova waved goodbye from behind Prime's knee.

* * *

Jazz was halfway to the exit when he was stopped by an all-too-familiar voice.

"Autoscum."

"Starscream," he guessed, turning; there was no mistaking that voice, nor that haughty sneer, though the Seeker's bright paint had faded and chipped somewhat after nearly a decavorn of slavery. "Still haunting around here?"

"It isn't as though I have a choice." The Decepticon moved forward, optics narrowed and mouthplates pulled tight. "I trust you brought the sparkling back in top condition?"

"Nova? He's fine. It's a nice neighborhood around here."

"Not for a Decepticon," Starscream growled. Jazz tilted his head. It was odd for Starscream to show concern for anyone besides himself, and he was concerned – Jazz had a talent for reading mechs, and as well as Starscream kept his emotions firmly bottled up, the Autobot could tell that he had been worried.

"What's it to you?" he asked. Starscream scowled.

"Is it so strange for a Decepticon to be concerned about a Decepticon sparkling?" he hissed, his voice taking on a greater dimension of seething fury than Jazz had ever heard. "Particularly after the _noble_ actions of the Autobots at Vos nine vorns ago?"

Jazz flinched; he couldn't help it. Truth be told, he had been stunned to see a Decepticon sparkling, especially in the wake of Vos…

"He's fine," he repeated, looking away, and he passed Starscream quickly.

It was only later that Jazz realized how neatly Starscream had changed the subject from his concern for Nova. Decepticon sparkling or not, it was still unlike Starscream to worry about anything beyond himself. It was almost like a creator's attention towards a creation… but that was ridiculous. Starscream didn't care about anyone enough to bond with them, except maybe for his wingmates, and he certainly wasn't the type who'd want a sparking, especially not now.

It was a mystery, true, but Jazz delighted in mysteries.


	8. To Grow

**A/N: **And the last of sparkling!Nova.

* * *

**Extra 8- To Grow**

* * *

Sometimes, it was obvious.

I watched my sparkling grow, guided him through his first steps and his first falls, his first illness, his first pain. All hard lessons that any Decepticon had to learn. I found sometimes that I was out of my depth; I had no idea how to treat a sparkling, or how to raise one, so I went blindly forward, going on sheer instinct.

And he grew. His armor hardened, his wings reshaped themselves into something like mine. With regular transfusions his mass increased, slowly but surely, and his face began to change. At first it was smooth and unremarkable, a sparkling's face, but as the vorns passed – too quickly – it sharpened, darkened, and every time I looked at him I saw a bit more of the resemblance.

I became unwilling to let him go. I had begun to raise him like a Decepticon; I didn't want all that to disappear. But that had been our bargain. He could not remain in my care, he could not know who or what he was.

It happened one orn when I had taken him outside, a liberty Prime allowed us – otherwise I would never have lasted so long. I saw awareness in his optics, a sharpness sparklings lacked, and I went immediately to find Prime.

Giving him away was harder than I'd anticipated; I found myself watching him, lingering near him while remaining safely out of sight, constantly listening to my Decepticons for news of Prime's young ward.

I had not been wrong about the changes he would undergo in Prime's charge. He received everything he asked for, and he grew to expect it. We were to obey him within the limits of reason, so I had instructed my mechs long ago to stay away from him whenever possible. I didn't want him to get into the habit of ordering my Decepticons around. He may have been Megatron's creation, but _I _was the leader of the Decepticons…

Yet I knew, sometimes, that there were some things I could not keep from him. Deep within my Spark I knew what he would become, what he had been created to become, and I hated it. But I never hated him.

He grew more like me, as much as I would hate to admit it – selfish, insufferable brat – but sometimes I looked at him and saw another mech.

The rest of the Decepticons saw it, too, staring and whispering until I thought the Senate must surely have noticed by now. To my optics it was painfully, terribly obvious. He looked just like Megatron.

He acted like him, in rare, strange instances. Sometimes I would see him watching something with that same thoughtful frown or that same dark glare, and I would expect him to open his mouth and direct his troops – but no, that would come later.

Yes, there were flashes, but only that. I watched in confusion as he neared adolescence – why did he not mature? Why did he not develop that damned charisma, that sheer infuriating detestable genius that was Megatron? What was lacking?

It was only then that the full weight of it hit me, the true responsibilities Megatron had laid onto me. He would not progress on his own. He would not become the leader I knew he could be on his own. He needed something more, something that Prime's coddling could not give him. He needed discipline, strength – he needed someone who could teach him to think for himself, to fight against authority, to _lead_. He needed _me_.

Prime remembered the last part of our bargain without my reminders. I knew that he was stalling, wanting him to be "pure," to be Autobot. But I waited. I knew that Prime could never keep a Seeker from the sky forever.

And when the knock on my door finally came, I smirked to myself in satisfaction before opening it. I took him in without really looking at him – I knew what he looked like – and turned to Prime.

"Well?"

I could feel the distress radiating from him. He didn't want to give him away.

_You aren't the first, Prime._

"Nova is ready to learn how to fly."

An excuse to really look at him, to see the indignation, the arrogance… it was like staring into a mirror; my processor behind Megatron's face.

"It's about time."


	9. Comfort

**A/N:** This Extra takes place at the end of Chapter 13, just after Nova has killed his first Autobot.

* * *

**Extra 9- Comfort**

* * *

He was hurting. I knew it from the moment I heard the door to his quarters hiss open and closed; he hadn't entered through my quarters as he usually did. I didn't need my bond with Starscream to tell me that his sparkling was distressed. Nova was trying to hide his pain, but I knew him too well.

He stayed in his quarters, and after a while I stood up and entered Nova's rooms.

He lay on his front on the berth, still covered in the marks of a skirmish aboveground. I hadn't approved of Nova's joining the Ghost Unit. He wasn't ready to fight Autobots. It was too soon. He'd lived among them for vorns, knowing them as his classmates and mentors, willingly or not, and as much as he'd embraced the Decepticon cause, I knew that he wasn't yet ready for the cold reality of war.

I sat on the berth beside him. Closer up, I could see that his wings were shaking. He bore no visible injury, but there were hurts that ran far deeper. I gently touched his wing, my fingers stroking across the recent scarring of his Decepticon brands – one more pain he shouldn't have been made to bear. I said nothing; words would do no good here. There was nothing I could say to set him at ease. What should I tell him? That I was tired of war, that I wished I could help him? Empty words could heal nothing.

Nova's wing stilled under my hand and his vents let loose a shuddering sigh, so soft I almost missed it. For a long while, almost a breem, there was nearly-complete silence.

Finally, Nova's comm signal pinged against my network, signaling an impending databurst, which I accepted. The memory chilled me. Nova, my innocent Nova, had been unprepared for this. He hadn't been ready to kill. The databurst allowed me to intensely feel his emotions, all of the chaos, the sorrow. He felt no joy in what he had done, no satisfaction. Good… I would not allow my Nova to become one of them, not as long as I lived. There were too few mechs who felt no hatred in their Sparks. Even I sometimes hated the Autobots, but Nova never did. He'd never known hatred, although it had been directed towards him all his life.

I stroked his wings softly. He relaxed slowly, burying his face into his elbow. He fell into recharge shortly, but I didn't stop.

Nova was too precious to lose to war. He was the closest thing to a sparkling that I had, one of the few mechs that Starscream felt anything for, as deeply as he hid it. I couldn't allow him to be torn apart.

I leaned down to brush my lips across his helm. "Be strong, Nova," I murmured to him, sound barely escaping my vocalizer. "Til all are one."


	10. Tomb

**A/N:** **SPOILERS**. This Extra takes place during **Chapter 21**.

* * *

**Extra 10- Tomb**

* * *

The city-state of Vos had been named in an ancient Seeker dialect long ago, during the Golden Age of Cybertron. The first Seekers had named it for the wind that whistled constantly through the cliffs and spires of the magnificent aerial city.

This wind cooled the circuitry under Skywarp's armor as he put the finishing touches to the makeshift tomb, closed from the rest of the planet but open to the sky in true Seeker fashion. He landed beside Starscream, who had just finished carefully arranging Thundercracker's greyed-over but freshly repaired frame on the plinth.

"I think he'll like this," he said quietly, running his fingers over the lovingly carved glyphs spelling out Thundercracker's designation. "The cliffs, and the wind."

"He always liked to fly here," Starscream answered, his voice distant with the memory. "No one else could navigate it like he could."

Coming from the ever-proud Starscream, Skywarp knew this was something. He shifted closer to his surviving wingmate. Starscream allowed the contact.

"And it's quiet," he added. "He liked it when it was quiet." He laughed quietly. "He didn't get much of that from us, did he?"

"No, he didn't."

They stood in silence for a while. Skywarp's fingers moved on to the glyphs just under Thundercracker's designation, the ones which read "Til all are one." An oddly Autobot sentiment, but TC had always been fond of it, though he never used it publicly – just in private moments, a strange, murmured blessing sometimes when he thought his wingmates were recharging.

Solid TC, the one who tied them all together… he'd been exactly the way Skywarp remembered him when they were finally reunited after Axis. And after a few decacycles, Skywarp had noticed the similarities between Thundercracker and Nova, enough that if he hadn't known about Megatron, he'd have thought TC was Nova's creator.

In a way, the blue Seeker had always been the least Decepticon of the three. He had always had doubts about Megatron's methods, although he'd never said so aloud. He'd kept his silence and done as he was told. But once Nova had come to power – Thundercracker had been so proud of him, and Skywarp wondered whether Nova realized just how much TC had loved him – it seemed like his wingmate had suddenly become the new Decepticon ideal.

He'd never liked this war, Skywarp reflected. He'd never wanted to fight and kill. Not Thundercracker.

Skywarp glanced sidelong at his wingmate, but Starscream didn't return the look. He stared down at Thundercracker's darkened optics, mouth pulled into a tight line; although he didn't show any outward sign, their bond was wide open: this pain was meant to be shared.

"Do you think we should have brought Nova?" he ventured. Starscream only shook his head. This was a time just for them, Skywarp figured. Just for the three of them.


	11. Spy

**A/N:** Extra 11 corresponds with Chapter 21: Defeat.

* * *

**Extra 11- Spy**

* * *

The Decepticon was restless. He shifted on his berth, got up, sat down, shifted. It was the middle of the night-cycle and any sane mech who wasn't on duty was deep in recharge, except for this one. He'd developed a nervous twitch in his wiring. Usually getting out of the base and going for a walk was the quickest cure; after going out he always came back refreshed, able to recharge and go about his business as usual.

Finally he left his quarters. His pedes guided him to the surface, where the guard at the entrance greeted him by designation.

"I need air," the Decepticon said.

"Third time this decacycle you've been up when you should be in recharge. Even the Seekers aren't sky-crazy enough to go out in the middle of the night-cycle."

"I can't help it. I guess it reminds me of Kalis. My 'master…'" He mimed the organic habit of spitting. "…didn't let me out often."

"At least you weren't stuck in an energon mine," the guard answered. "Be careful of ghosts."

They both laughed and the Decepticon left the guard behind. Both moons were up, making the jagged surfaces of Kaon gleam. He knew his way around the city, even in the dark. His pedes clanked softly against the ground as he walked towards the outskirts of the city proper, further from his fellow Decepticons.

His sharp audios picked up the sound of metal on metal and he slowed.

"Who's there?" he called, unsubspacing his blaster.

Something pinged his sensors and he whirled, blaster charged and aimed…

Crimson optics locked with azure and programming was activated, the Decepticon snagged and submerged while the slave burst to the surface. The blaster clanged on the ground, followed by the slave's hands and knees and forehead. He trembled, fearful that he would be punished for pointing a weapon at his master. The shadow-echo of defiance flickered briefly before his master's approach dashed it away.

"Report," his master ordered. The slave reviewed his memory banks. To the original, the actions of his artificial "self" were as distant as a dream. It had been a nightmare at first – he'd been terrified at every turn, still a slave at Spark, watching the actions of the courageous – false – self that his master had created for him. But he'd gotten used to it after several vorns.

He felt echoed emotions from his other self—he shouldn't be able to _feel_ what his other half did, but he'd never told his master about the echoes. He hid them guiltily, keeping them in his Spark. The stronger emotions could sometimes fool him into believing they were his own, and that… appealed to him. Somewhere deep down, he _wanted_ to be like his false self. He _wanted_ to be brave. He _wanted_ to be strong.

He… _wanted_… to hate his master.

"The troops will move to Praxus," he said. A tiny part of him felt a "real" emotion… shame. That was illogical – he was a slave. He had been created to serve his master. "We will move out in three orns. Our force will be comprised of eight hundred mechs."

"Report on the commander."

The Commander. Shadow-emotions burned and boiled in his Spark. His other self would die before betraying Nova. Like the rest of the Decepticons, he adored the young Seeker with devotion bordering on love. The slave should have been willing to serve his master without question, and yet…

"He maintains his popularity," he answered. "He has recently put down a minor rebellion…"

"Will he be at Praxus?"

"I—unknown."

"There is an uncomfortable number of things that are _unknown_ by you, slave." His master's optics hardened. "Like Vos, for example."

The slave flinched and cowered. "I heard nothing, Master, I swear it."

"I would punish you for your failure if I knew that the marks would go unnoticed." His master stepped closer, reaching out to plug his finger-cables into the ports at the back of the slave's neck. "Your disguise shell has received a recent promotion. It will aggressively pursue the goal of rising through the ranks, for the sole purpose of gathering more information."

"Y-yes, Master," the slave said meekly, holding obediently still as his programming was altered. Highbrow was an expert programmer; he'd created a near-flawless set of secondary programming, a completely separate persona. Or perhaps not completely. Those echoes lingered, ever-present, like dreams to his submerged true self.

"Now go," his master commanded, detaching with a painful jerk and flicking his fingers disdainfully. "When next I call you, I expect that your shell persona will have infiltrated the upper ranks."

"Yes, master." He remained kneeling as his master's steps retreated. Again he would sink into his false identity, his dream-self.

He… admired his other half. _He_ had earned a designation for himself. His master had never called him anything but "slave," though he vaguely remembered a time when his creator had cradled him in her arms and stroked his face and crooned "Torsion." He almost longed for the times when he was not Torsion, but—

The Decepticon blinked at the ground. Why was he on his knees? Had he malfunctioned? His chronometer read several cycles later than it ought to. He got uneasily to his pedes, looking around. No attacker was in range; no damage registered on his scans. Then… how had he ended up on the ground?

He shook himself. He was a Decepticon and this could not scare him. He could take on any enemy; he could defeat any foe, even his own glitching processor.

The Decepticon set off back towards base, now eager to recharge. His unit would be in Praxus; there was no sense in losing megacycles of recharge worrying over a few missing cycles.


	12. Supplies

**A****/N: **This Extra comes to you from Dancinglemur. It corresponds with Chapter 21, taking place shortly before Nova recruits the Constructicons.

* * *

**Extra 12- Supplies**

* * *

"Nova? Nova!" Starscream screeched, but his creation's quarters echoed back empty at him. "Slaggit!" he spat, throwing down his datapad as he stomped into his quarters.

"What's got your tailpipes in a twist?" Skywarp asked from where he was sprawled out on the berth.

"Nova's disappeared _again_."

Skywarp cackled. "You should hear yourself! Before you would have _jumped_ at the chance to play leader when Megatron was out, no matter for how long, but _now_ all you do is whine and comp—AUGH! CALM DOWN, SCREAMER, I WAS JUST KIDDKLASDFGLKJHK-!"

Satisfied that Skywarp had shut up, Starscream threw himself into the chair and swiped an energon cube. "I _said_, Nova's run off again."

"Well, then, he's probably with Apis, isn't he?" Skywarp answered, rubbing his sore jaw. "That's the only place he ever goes when he randomly disappears."

"But we need him _here_!" Starscream snarled, slamming his fist down on the table. "We have enough energon to last us for at least a few more vorns, but the troops sustained too much damage in our last skirmish and we don't have the supplies to fix them! Not to mention those slagging Constructicons are still AWOL. If the Autobots found out what horrible shape we're in, it would take an embarrassingly small force to wipe us out! Nova needs to be _here_ so we can figure out what to do next!"

"But he needs Apis too," Skywarp said. "You and I both know what happens to leaders who don't have an outlet of some kind. They crack, they break. That can't happen to Nova. Like you said, he's the best one for the job. So it took the others a while to get used to him, but he's Megatron's creation, and yours too. That, and he was raised by _Optimus slagging Prime_, for Primus's sake. You know Prime would never seriously hurt Nova, especially since he's not really hot on this whole slavery thing anyway."

Starscream slumped into his chair and pouted. "I know," he admitted grudgingly. "And Apis isn't bad. For a groundpounder. But that doesn't change the fact that he should be _here_!"

"Aww, did you miss me?" Nova's voice sounded from behind them and Starscream jumped, spilling his energon. He spun, cursing, and threw the now-empty cube at the other Seeker's head.

"Ouch," Nova said, rubbing his forehead. "I come back with supplies and news and this is how you greet me?"

"I'm expected to believe that you were _actually_ out looking for supplies?"

"You've got me there. But, regardless, I came back with them." He entered the room, closing and locking the door behind him, and took the chair Starscream hadn't knocked over. "Apis has volunteered to ship us supplies whenever she can. She says she's reasonably sure she can rally up enough support with her younger friends to send us a relatively steady stream of supplies."

Starscream quieted, appeased by the news, and Skywarp threw his wingmate a smug "told-you-so" grin. "Anything else?" the red Seeker snapped, unwilling to let it go just yet.

"But of course, dear creator," Nova purred, leaning forward with Starscream's "I-know-something-you-don't-know" smirk on his faceplates.

"Apis knows where the Constructicons are."


	13. Ratbat

**A/N: **Since a few of you asked about Ratbat, here he is. And he's a creepy stalker.

This Extra corresponds roughly with Chapter 23.

* * *

**Extra 13- Ratbat**

* * *

"As you have been unable to provide one witness on your behalf, this court finds you guilty of treason against the Senate. You are therefore sentenced to immediate termination."

Ratbat watched the guards lead the Decepticon prisoner out, then turned and left the courtroom. There was no satisfaction to be gained from watching the execution. It just didn't thrill him as it once had, not since the rebellion had really gotten underway and Prime's pet Seeker had become ever so much more than a bolt wedged in his gears. He was tired of the rank-and-file… he wanted more. He wanted Starscream with shattered wings and his vocalizer torn out. He wanted his servant, his traitor, his jailer kneeling at his pedes, broken, the rest of his menagerie scattered about him, preferably in pieces.

But he would exchange them both for Nova.

Ever since he'd known of the Seeker who called himself an Autobot, he'd been determined to keep an optic on Nova. He'd known right away that this mech would be trouble.

The Senator sank into the expensive chair in his Iacon office, activating the console and bringing up the few images of Nova which the Autobots possessed. There were some hurried battleground scans, an older identification holo from just after his upgrade to his adult form, and then Ratbat's favorites: the choicest images collected from Highbrow's precious spybot.

Nova's scarlet optics burned out at him from each image, sultry and promising. Ratbat's own optics traced the faint curve of Nova's mouth, ordinarily downturned but for one image where he smiled, carefree as a sparkling. How young he was, when compared to the army he commanded… to the very war he fought. He may have killed, he may have known pain and pleasure in extremes, but there was still innocence in that smile.

Ratbat gained no satisfaction from executing hardened, hateful Decepticons – he wanted a toy he could break first.

He wanted to know what kept Nova pure. How had he avoided the cloying hate that had taken over every other warrior? What did he hold onto that anchored him? What was so precious that it kept him from tumbling down the same pit as had Megatron, and Starscream, and Ratbat himself?

Ratbat would discover it. Ratbat would delight in tearing it away from him.

The Senator didn't try to lie to himself. His motives weren't entirely "pure" (if psychological torment was pure at all) and he admitted it freely. Nova was a Seeker, a pretty thing, made all the more intriguing by the power he wielded over so many Cybertronians. What kind of Spark pulsed under his canopy glass?

Ratbat would taste it. Ratbat would break Nova physically as well as mentally – take him and use him, beat him, wear him down.

And if all of this failed, if Nova refused to succumb… well, there was always execution. He'd seen it so many times that it was easy to picture Nova forced to his knees, perhaps in front of an assembly of other potentially unruly Decepticons – let them see what would become of them if they dared to revolt – his canopy shattered, his chestplates forced apart, baring his rebellious Spark for all to see.

Ratbat could just see Nova's face, the denta bared in a snarl, those optics narrowed in a fierce glare, but someone would grip his helm, force him to watch. One point-blank shot was all it would take… no time for a scream, just the force of the blow knocking him backwards. After that, perhaps, Ratbat might permit his remains to be displayed somewhere, a silent reminder to all Decepticons… although the wings, the wings he would keep…

His blissful reverie was rudely interrupted by the soft chime from the door.

"What?" he snapped, annoyed at the abrupt end of his fantasizing.

"S-Senator Ratbat, sir… we've been unsuccessful at Polyhex, sir."

"What? How?"

"They… they had a Sentinel too, sir. I'm told they battled and… theirs won."

"Slag it all to the Pit," Ratbat hissed. The rest of the Senate would never condone the use of more precious energon to bring another Sentinel online. Their gamble had failed to pay off. "Very well. Inform the rest of the Senate and alert me to any further developments."

"I-I will, sir."

Quick steps retreated and Ratbat's fingers dug into the arms of his chair. He glared up at Nova.

"You win this round. How do you do it?" he murmured. "Pull off miracles again and again?" He folded his fingers together. "But your luck won't hold out forever. No, not forever…"


	14. Failure

**A/N: SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 24 OF RISE.**

* * *

**Extra 14- Failure**

* * *

Helex shook beneath the battling armies, forcing Hazard to keep light on her pedes if she wanted to live. The Autobot reinforcements were fresh and ready for battle, unlike their tired companions, and she couldn't afford any slip-ups. Another city for the Decepticons, a few more slaves freed, a few more energon cubes to go around, a few less Autobots. Hazard wanted all of that, so she fought, firing away with her standard-issue blaster while searching for something with a bit more punch that she could steal from a deactivated shell.

She had just reached an area temporarily cleared of Autobots when there was an explosion in the sky above. She ducked, covering her head, and looked up just in time to see a Seeker fall from the air, crashing to the ground nearby. Ordinarily she'd have passed by, leaving him for deactivated, but something stopped her, drew her closer, until she recognized him and all thoughts of looting for a better blaster were forgotten as she raced to his side, kneeling down and tentatively touching the battered grey heap, turning him over and seeing Nova's face. _Oh, Primus, is he offline?_ – There was energon everywhere, she was no medic – that wing didn't look good, neural lines sparking – what could she do, how could she help him?!

"Commander!" she cried over the noise of battle, shaking him. "Are you functional? Wake up! Commander!"

She knew the Autobots wouldn't be long in getting here, especially if they already knew who it was they'd shot down. She sent out a desperate comm for a medic.

"Commander, wake up, please, wake up," she babbled, slightly hysterical now. Nova was their Commander, Nova was immortal, Nova couldn't die. He was the one who kept them going, the one who had freed them. "Wake up, please, Commander…"

And there were the Autobots, coming to find their victim. Hazard wouldn't let them take him. _Couldn't_. Nova was everything. She crouched over her commander's prone form, still begging him to online even as she fired shot after shot towards the Autobots. She had to hold them off until help came… she had to protect Nova.

She'd taken down two of them when they hit her; she stayed upright, still firing until a third fell, but then there was pain coming from somewhere in her torso and she swayed, blaster falling from her hand. She draped herself over Nova, still trying to defend him. Nova was everything. She wouldn't let them take him… Nova was everything…

"I'm sorry, Commander…" she whispered as she slid into darkness, Nova's face the last thing she saw before her optics dimmed.

* * *

When Hazard onlined, the first thing she gasped was "Commander!"

But it was only Hook standing over her, frowning, and she was amazed to see Air Commander Starscream there too. But her amazement was short-lived. She had to know – had someone gotten there in time? Where was the Commander? Was Nova safe?

She didn't realize she'd said it aloud until Starscream answered.

" I was going to ask you the same thing."

He was holding something in his hands, and his optics were dim, his face drawn. He hadn't even cleaned himself up yet; given Starscream's legendary vanity, this was troubling. She looked closer at whatever he was holding, just a triangular piece of grey metal with a red stripe on it, and after a moment she realized what it was.

Part of the Commander's wing.

"It was found near you. Did you see anything, soldier?" Starscream demanded.

The sight of the wing and the subsequent realization opened the floodgates.

"Saw him go down… he wouldn't wake up. Don't know if he was…" She choked on the word and went without it. "Energon everywhere. Tried to hold them off. Too many… sorry… failed… offlined, didn't see…"

Saying it made it real again, the feel of her Commander's energon under her hands, the taste of bitter failure rising in her ingestion conduit. She kept stammering, rasping out an endless apology, until at last Hook gestured for her to stop.

"Stop gibbering and fretting, you'll undo all of my repairs." His strict voice held an edge of worry, and he turned to look at Starscream, who hadn't moved an astroinch since Hazard had begun her fractured account. "It doesn't sound good. Once she's stabilized, I'll get Soundwave in here to take a look at her memory files."

Starscream said nothing. His face hardened and he left wordlessly.

Grumbling, Hook moved on to the mech in the next berth, leaving Hazard alone with her recollections. Pain surged in her Spark, but it was nothing that a medic could cure.

She had failed when it had mattered the most… she had failed Nova.

Hazard shuttered her optics, shaking with suppressed sobs – a Decepticon should always be strong, she'd been trained that way for centivorns upon centivorns, but in the face of this catastrophe she felt like a sparkling again.

_I'm so sorry, Commander…_


	15. Unity

**A/N: Warning, spoilers for Chapter 24.**

* * *

**Extra 15- Unity**

* * *

He'd felt bad about it later, of course, the way he'd just left, the way he'd avoided Nova ever since, but he couldn't face him. He was supposed to protect Nova, but this… this _other_ inside of him had undermined that all along. It still haunted him, thinking of all the times Nova had been recharging alongside him, no reason to suspect that at any moment the _other_ could have seized control and terminated him right there. He didn't trust the _other_ around Nova… he couldn't put his beloved Nova into danger, this was the best way to protect him.

But something inside of him still felt terrible, especially when it became evident that Nova's and Starscream's relationship had grown rocky. Nova would need him, he'd need someone to go to… but Ramrod would not let that be the _other_. If Ramrod couldn't have Nova to himself, love him and keep him and protect him the way he wanted to, then neither of them would.

And yet there was another. There was Apis, who shared something with Nova that Ramrod never could. Nova wanted to bond with her, Ramrod could see it whenever his friend spoke of her. He deserved someone who could hold him and care for him in a different way, soft, careful… Ramrod couldn't give him that. He was a warrior, not a medic – he wasn't programmed to be gentle or loving.

Still, that didn't explain the way he felt about Nova – love wasn't in his coding, and yet he was almost certain that was the name for this feeling.

He refused to believe that the _other_ could feel such a thing, that the _other_ had brought this. He loved Nova, and he would not credit that to a pitiful slave.

Sometimes he dreamed in his recharge, but the dreams weren't his. They were memories – memories he knew well, as they were his own, until they reached a point of divergence, and then the _other's_ memories took over. He woke disoriented and disturbed – the _other_ was just trying to manipulate him, trying to get his pity.

And then there was Helex.

Ramrod heard the reports, the gradually growing panic coming back and forth across the comm channels, as the High Command realized that Nova was no longer speaking. It was painful to go on, to keep fighting while he listened to them.

When he finally got back to Kaon, he made for the medbay, determined to find Nova. He had so much to apologize for – he hadn't meant to avoid him, but he couldn't let anything happen to him…

Ramrod met Starscream a corridor away from his destination, and something in the Seeker's face stopped him. Starscream stopped as well, just looking at him, and pain wrenched at Ramrod's Spark. He knew, even without seeing the horrible proof that Starscream carried tenderly in his hands.

For another cycle they only looked at each other. Then Starscream carried on past him, leaving Ramrod standing in the middle of the corridor.

It couldn't be possible… this couldn't be happening. Nova couldn't be gone. The universe couldn't possibly be so cruel.

But reality sank in a klik later. A grating mechanical groan tore from them as their engine tried to turn over, and they slid to the floor, staring blankly at the opposite wall. Their Spark burned with pain, anguish felt twice-over, as everything seemed to fall apart around them, and for the second time their emotions echoed each other – the first had been their love for Nova, unconditional, unquenchable – the second their grief over his termination. They shuttered their optics, folding in on themselves, and one hesitantly reached out to the other, extending not comfort, but understanding, and what tore them apart as individuals united them as one.

_Torsion…?_

_I'm here._


	16. Shatter

**A/N: WARNING, SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 24 OF RISE.**

This one brought to you by Lemur.

* * *

**Extra 16-Shatter**

* * *

"Someone's going to have to tell Apis."

Skywarp's voice was forced, hollow. At least when TC had died he'd had Starscream and Nova to help him through it, but now Nova was gone and Starscream was clearly beyond helping anyone now. So Skywarp was left trying desperately to not fall back into that near-catatonic, dead-mech-walking state he'd become last time. He was failing, so far.

Starscream didn't reply, continuing to scrub furiously at a scorch mark on his arm with a filthy cloth, only spreading the ash. Even the angle at which he was turned away from his wingmate didn't hide his pained grimace or how he was shaking. He stopped pretended to clean at Skywarp's words and sunk his clawed hand into the rag, grinding it into his arm, but beyond that he did not react. Skywarp knew it must haunt him that his final words to Nova had been harsh and angry.

"I said-"

"I know what you said," Starscream rasped, still not turning to face him. "I know we can't keep this from her forever." His voice suggested like he very much wanted to, but not out of any desire to protect her from the truth. No, on some deep level, Starscream was clinging to all he had left of Nova. The news of his death was one of those few things and it was clear that he was loath to share even that with the femme his creation had loved.

"She has a right to know."

Starscream whirled on him and Skywarp saw the madness in his eyes. "And since when have you been so morally aware?!" he snarled, but Skywarp could see how he shook.

"She needs to know," he said. "She's his mate, she needs to know."

Starscream seemed taken aback, a small shred of sanity returning to his optics, Skywarp noted with muted relief. "Mate?" he squawked. "They didn't-" Skywarp could see the hope rising in his eyes, hope that it would be similar to what had happened prior to Nova's own creation. He hated to have to kill it.

"I don't think so. Not yet. But it was clear that they would have soon."

Starscream fell silent. Skywarp waited, numb.

"Fine," the other Seeker hissed finally, pushing past his darker brother and out of the room.

Skywarp smiled sadly at the empty air and turned to follow. They had a femme's spark to break.

* * *

There was the sound of landing turbines from outside and Apis started grinning. Steelcrusher started rumbling in laughter at the dreamy smile on her face. "I'll send 'im back 'ere, girly," he told her, amused, and she grinned up at the mech who was like a creator to her and chirped her thanks while she hurried off to wipe as much dust and grease off of herself as she could.

When she got back to the storage room, neither Steelcrusher nor Nova had made it back yet, so she hummed to herself as she finished stacking the oilcans as she waited. And waited. That niggling little fear returned to her as she waited and fidgeted and Nova did not come. She knew that what he was doing was important, and she supported him one hundred percent of the way, but that didn't stop her from worrying that one day he wouldn't come back.

"Don't be silly," she told herself, straightening a tower of cans. But her voice sounded hollow and eerily foreboding even to her own audios. She fidgeted even more, staring at the door, willing it to open and her winged lover to step through it and grin widely at her silliness like he always did.

The door remained closed and finally she could take no more. Numbly she watched as her body crossed the storage room and pushed open the door, moving into the front of the shop.

Two Seekers stood there, dented and covered in ash and dried energon stains.

Apis stared blankly at them, the smile freezing on her face. She stared at the two, seeing the red and white and the black and purple underneath the filth.

"No," she whispered, already knowing, but refusing to accept it, feeling the void yawn open in her spark. "No..." she said, a little stronger this time, taking a half step back. Their optics stared blankly back at her and she knew. "Please, no," she begged them, but their silence was all the answer they gave.

"NO!" she screamed, her knees collapsing beneath her. She knelt there, staring up at them with wide, disbelieving optics, muffling her sobs with both hands over her mouth, shaking her head back and forth as she tried to deny it.

Skywarp stepped forwards and laid something in front of her. She couldn't see it for the blank, numb, all-encompassing grief.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, run-ragged voice catching. "I'm sorry."

Apis sobbed and curled in on herself. Her foot nudged the piece of metal he'd placed before her and she found it to be half of Nova's wing. A frenzied sob ripped out of her and she grabbed it and clutched it to her chest like it was her sparkling and keened, the sound loud and high and filled with grief.

Skywarp, Starscream and Steelcrusher stared on, statues, as Apis fell to pieces before them.


	17. Behind the Scenes

I'm pleased to present another Extra written by Dancinglemur, which takes place during Chapter 25.

* * *

**Extra 17- Behind the Scenes**

* * *

Shortstop had hoped with his entire spark, from the second the grey and red Seeker had swaggered into their shop, that it would be nothing more than a passing fancy. It wasn't that he didn't like Decepticons – he _did, _except when they were jerks, - it was that _this _Decepticon, Decepticon-to-be, whatever, was clearly going to be someone big, and that was trouble.

Because their happiness was carved in a niche of anonymity; bots came to Neutral towns to be forgotten, to slip away from war-torn Cybertron and find peace in the quiet, easy life of their tiny, forgotten towns, far away from factions and slaves and all the nasty things that living with the rest of their people entailed.

If Apis got involved with Nova, all that would disappear. The war had touched their lives once before, and they were still reeling from it after all these vorns. Apis still froze at the sight of any large, excessively bleeding wound, and just the passing, possible thought of losing someone close to her spark terrified her more than anything else. Not like Shortstop was any better; he pushed everyone he didn't know away, hoarded those close to his spark even closer, and unlike Apis (who he was starting to think was incapable of holding a grudge against anyone), he openly loathed all the pompous, self-righteous fraggers who waltzed into town with their blue optics, red symbols, and wagging their glossas babbling about how Decepticons were inferior slaves and Neutrals were cowards at best. Too many bad memories of how that red face had turned from a promise of safety to bitter ashes in all their mouths.

Thankfully, this disdain had never gotten him into any more trouble than a few brawls and shouted words and thrown punches. Prime, with the last dregs of power he'd had before the Senate had taken over once again, had proclaimed Neutrals off-limits, untouchable. As long as there was no faction sign, he'd decreed, they could not be arrested unless they truly broke the law, and they could not be harmed because they'd decided to pull away from what their society had become.

Usually, they were left alone. And it was in the absence of the outside world that they'd found their happiness again.

Which was why Shortstop hoped that Nova would be quickly forgotten.

He should have known better. The dreamy, love-struck smile on Apis' face even after the Seeker left town should have clued him in otherwise.

But he'd held strong to his hope. Apis would forget him, given time. She had to.

Only she didn't.

And then Nova _came back _and everything only got worse.

Shortstop's world was very small: Apis, of course, who had been at his side almost since their creation; Steelcrusher, who had taken them both in and given them a home and a family and a type of happiness that was missing in so many places on their war-torn planet; Andromeda, who teased and flirted with everyone because she enjoyed being close to others after having lost so much; Livewire, who was always quiet and there whenever you needed him; and Fritz-out, who was loud and boisterous and told crude jokes and off-color stories and was fiercely defensive of his "family." These five were Shortstop's world, and he couldn't lose any of them. He would fall apart without them there.

He couldn't protect them physically, like Fritz-out, Livewire, and 'Crusher could. He wasn't strong like 'Crusher, smart like Livewire, or able to make things explode like Fritz. He had his speed and his sharp, stinging words and he used the latter liberally if it meant keeping others from getting too close and stealing away one of his pillars.

But Nova hadn't been deterred by any of that. He'd waltzed right in and seized Apis' spark up in his long, clawed servos and flown far away with it to a place where none of them could get it back.

And Shortstop hated him for it. He hated him because it was either that or show just how _scared _he was. Because Apis had loved before, but never like this; this was more than the familial love she'd had for Spire and Shattershard, more than for Perceptor or even Barricade, who would have called Autobot squishiness and sentimentality on them if they'd admitted it to him. And, with the exception of Barricade (and Perceptor because he hadn't been dead, just gone, and they'd found him again here,) their deaths had taken Apis to a place Shortstop couldn't follow.

Steelcrusher and Perceptor and Livewire and Fritz and Andy had helped him help her smile again after Nova had left that first time, and all the times afterward. But this love she had for Nova….

Nova was an important mech in the thick of the war. It was inevitable that he would get hurt, get killed, and Shortstop knew that when his luck ran out and that happened, there was a possibility that the unthinkable would happen – that he would lose Apis forever.

For vorns, this worry of his went unrealized. And, he could admit privately, it was nice to see Apis so bright and happy all the time, even when Nova wasn't there with them.

But Shortstop had been created for speed; he knew just how fast and fleeting everything was. Up to and including happiness like Apis'.

The day came when Nova didn't come back. His creator and creator's trinemate came instead, and gave Apis a blackened stump of a shorn-off wing, and Shortstop's waking nightmare began.

Apis didn't smile anymore after that.

Though he'd never liked Nova, never liked the threat to his close and familiar world, Shortstop found himself desperately hoping that the other mech would come back, resurrect himself through some weird, Decepticon-Autobot means and _come back _already, if only so that Apis would smile again.

He'd rather have her stolen away by some tall, dashing stranger than quiet and listless with drawn lips and dimmed optics. He would rather have her happy and not his (not his best friend, not his closest companion, her spark belonging to someone else) than his and dead inside like this.

Once he realized this (and it took orbits, to come to terms with that. Shortstop could be selfish, but he'd lost so much that he thought he deserved to cling to the good things in his life) it took him a while to get over his dislike of Nova and the broken remains of his pride.

The reminder of how much of Apis Nova had possessed, for his disappearance to affect her like this, came every time his best friend looked at him blankly where she once would have smiled. Shortstop had to get him back. Or at least get what was left of him back so that Apis had more than just a blackened stump of a wing.

He left Apis listlessly, mechanically, organizing inventory in the closed shop, and pushed open the door into the back courtyard, seeking out 'Crusher.

The big tank was tinkering around with some old pieces of scrap in the large, circular courtyard the back of their shop opened into. Shortstop wove through the piles of gutted and mid-repair vehicles that took up most of the dusty space, and sat himself on what remained of a transport sleigh. They'd been cutting pieces out of the thing for ages now to patch holes in their other projects, but it was still whole enough to support his relatively tiny weight.

'Crusher didn't acknowledge him beyond a grunt at first, but that was his way and he _was _busy constructing some sort of thing that Shorty didn't recognize, so Shortstop waited. Steelcrusher never left a thing unfinished, so it could be quite some time before he actually spoke to Shortstop.

Usually, this would be acceptable. But not now, not with something as important as this weighing on his mind.

"We have to do something about this," Shortstop declared, and then winced at how loud his voice was in the silence. Usually he didn't care how obnoxiously he came off, but this was _Steelcrusher_, and he always felt that he had to be at his best for the mech who had given him and Apis back everything again.

"'bout what?" 'Crusher asked, his slow drawl slightly muffled from how he was sitting to work on the machine. He didn't look up, nor did he ever pause the slow, confident motions of his hands.

"_You _know." To Steelcrusher or not, Shortstop _hated _admitting he was ever in the wrong about anything. Owning up to what he wanted would mean he'd been gravely mistaken in his sentiments as to the Seeker's place in Apis' and all their lives.

"Do I?" Slag it all, was the rusty old mech going to make him _say _it? Shortstop snarled in a mix of frustration and humiliation, and Steelcrusher chuckled, still working on the machine. Yes, yes he was.

"Slag it all, you _know!_" Shortstop finally burst out after a breem of frustrated squirming. "About _Apis_! We have to do something about _Apis_! She –_we_- can't go on like this!"

Steelcrusher's hands finally stopped moving, but he did not yet turn to look at Shortstop. "An' what are you proposin' we do?" His low rumble was quiet, carefully void of any and all emotional infliction. If Shortstop had been a cautious mech, he would have been nervous or outright scared. But then, "cautious" had never been an adjective commonly applied to the courier.

"She can't go on like this." _I _can't go on like this, seeing her like this, he was really saying, and only those who knew him as well as Steelcrusher could hear that. "She deserves more than just that _wing_." It had been days before they'd managed to pry it out of her hands. She'd only come out of her catatonic state then, raging and screaming at them as they tried to separate her from the last link she had to Nova. It had scared Shortstop more than anything else, save for the hollow, near-lifeless state she'd fallen into after the rage had passed. "I can't – you have to help me, 'Crusher," he pleaded. "You know Autobots – maybe…maybe they have him on display somewhere, or at least something that involves a version of his death that doesn't end with him going down in a ball of flame over Helex. I just – she – she deserves more than just a wing."

Towards the end his voice trailed off into a conflicted mumble. He didn't know exactly what he wanted from 'Crusher, or what he hoped all this would accomplish. He just knew it was killing their family to see Apis like this, and that he had to do something, _anything_ to keep them together.

He didn't know how much of this bled into his voice, but apparently it was enough because 'Crusher finally turned to face the frantic little courier.

"You're a lot kinder at spark than you let on, you know," he rumbled. While Shortstop was still sputtering with embarrassment, Steelcrusher stood and clapped a massive hand on his back, gently enough so that he didn't topple forward onto his face. "I'll ask around, see what I kin do. Got some Autobot friends who'll know what's what."

Steelcrusher had a large, not-completely-exactly-legal web of "friends" and connections that spanned both factions, a good portion of Cybertron, and stretched back to before Axis and the Great War. Usually they didn't ask when he mentioned these acquaintances, and he certainly never ventured any details, but they nearly always came through. Shortstop relaxed; they would help; this would be taken care of.

"Thank you," he whispered, his spark in his throat, and though much of 'Crusher's face was covered by the craggy protrusion of his jutting lower jaw; he still gave the impression of smiling. He patted Shortstop's back again and walked off through the maze of machinery back towards the shop.

Shortstop lingered outside in the courtyard for a while longer, and allowed himself his first real smile since this nightmare's start. There was hope now. 'Crusher's friends would bring back news and Apis would get better and start to smile again. She had to.

* * *

This was top-secret news they were digging for – far too valuable to be passed along comm. lines like usual – so Steelcrusher ended up actually making a trip into Protihex, a nearby mid-sized Autobot city, to make his inquiries in person.

Livewire, as the most responsible of their group (Fritz-Out was technically the eldest of them all, but "responsible" was the last word _anyone _would use to describe Fritz), was left in charge. It wasn't unusual for 'Crusher to make trips like this from time to time, so his departure hadn't drawn any suspicion.

Life carried on more or less as it had before. Livewire overlooked and watched out for them and the shop; Fritz-out worked in the yard doing repairs (and building more explosives and firecrackers when he thought no one was looking); Shortstop ran errands and messages and deliveries and packages; and Andromeda worked the shop. Usually, Apis would help out with that, but she was in no shape to be the cheerful shop worker she had been, so she was mostly kept occupied back in the storage area. They all watched her with concerned, worried optics, but she didn't seem to notice or care. They all continued in their attempts to make her smile, laugh, or react _somehow_, but got nothing more than blank stares.

'Crusher was gone nearly two orbits. When he returned, it was with small presents for them all, as was his way, along with new parts and merchandise for the shop and no news whatsoever, save for one tiny tidbit he had gleaned from all his careful questioning.

"If you've noticed," he told Shortstop later, when they were alone. "The Autobots passin' through these decacycles since his death-" they didn't say his name aloud anymore, "- 've said near nothin' 'bout the war." Comprehension slowly began to dawn in Shortstop. "You'd think," Crusher said, slow and careful, "that if they'd killed him they'd be bleatin' it to the high heavens 'n totin' his head about on a pike."

"But they haven't been," Shortstop whispered. "There hasn't been anything about his death at all." He was full of a strange mix of elation and discontent and he didn't know what to do with that.

"Hold up a breem there," 'Crusher cut him off before he could really get going. "Ever'one I asked 'bout this was real nervous, and it was suggested t' me more'n once that I off my vocalizer and hurry on outta town before the wrong bot heard me." Shortstop's small, slim shoulders were engulfed by the tank's comparatively giant hands as 'Crusher knelt down and stared, dead serious, into Shortstop's surprised blue visor. "Someone – a lot of important someones, from the looks of it – doesn't want these kinds of questions being asked about this particular mech."

The fact that the Autobots had stopped chatting casually about the state of things to Neutrals smelled of trouble as well. Until now, no one had looked too closely at Neutrals, on account of a great many of them being ex-Autobots. But nearly all of the Neutral cities were centers for smuggling out slaves – a criminal offense with a severe punishment – and with the way the Senate was cracking down nowadays…

"But if he's alive—" Shortstop protested. Shouldn't they let Apis know? Give her hope?

"_**No**_," Steelcrusher thundered, then eased himself back and looked apologetically at his charge for startling him. "Sometimes… sometimes bein' dead is a mercy, Shortstop. If he _is _still alive, somewhere, Primus only knows what they've done to him."

Shortstop understood what he was trying to say. Even if, by some miracle, Nova _was _still alive, and they somehow managed to rescue him, he would not be the same. Not by a long shot.

"Oh," he said softly. If Nova came back cruel and cold and hard, it would destroy Apis. In warning Shortstop not to tell her, Steelcrusher was –as he always did- protecting and watching out for her and for all of them.

"Y'see?" 'Crusher asked gently. "You mustn't breathe a word to Apis. I don't know fer sure if he's dead or alive, but I'd bet ever'thin that if he's alive he ain't th' same no more. 'N I don't want our girl goin' off half-cocked on some sorta crazy rescue mission for a mech that won't be the one she loves so bad."

Pain drew aging lines across Shortstop's face, but he nodded his agreement. "Aright," he said softly, his gaze lowering to the dusty ground in defeat and helplessness. So there really was nothing, nothing at all, that he could do to help her. Not even give her real and final proof of Nova's death, because Nova might not even _be _dead. But he couldn't tell her that either because that might make everything even worse.

"Hey there," 'Crusher rumbled, tapping up his chin with a colossal finger. "You kin still help her. Just be there for her 'n look out fer her, like y'always have done. Trust me." He offered his half-visible smile again and rose to his pedes with a creak of old joints and walked off.

Shortstop stared down at the giant imprints his knees had made in the dust for a long time after that before turning and scooping up the crate of presents their caretaker had left behind and trotting off to go show Apis. Maybe his time he'd surprise a smile out of her.

* * *

It took a long time to help Apis become Apis again. Far too long for Shortstop's liking. Eventually, however, they began to succeed.

Andromeda softened her words and jibes to gentle, nudging comments, while Livewire tried to coax her into conversations about new scientific discoveries; Fritz commandeered her help in the yard passing tools and jokes even in the beginning when it was like talking to a wall, and 'Crusher was there for comfort as he always was.

And Shortstop was everywhere. He brought Apis little presents and trinkets from the places his deliveries took him – odd little wonders that once upon a time would have made her laugh and her face light up with delight.

It was slow going. Andromeda's uncharacteristic kindness went uncommented upon, Livewire's attempts at conversation were met with silence, Fritz was just robotically handed tools, and 'Crusher and Shorty were, while not ignored, were not smiled at or hugged or anything like it used to be.

One day, however, she changed. It was subtle, but it was there. Andromeda's jibes and Fritz's jokes drew shadows of upward lip-twitches, Livewire got brief flashes of sharp, interested glances, and 'Crusher, once, a brief nuzzle as he patted her helm.

The first time since Starscream and Skywarp's visit that she actually looked up from present Shortstop had given her and _smiled_, he stared and gaped like a fool.

The whispered "Thanks, Shorty," almost knocked him off his pedes.

Slowly but surely, she began to come back to them. Nudging elbows with Andy, returning Fritz-out's light teasing and small talk, actually engaging in conversation with Livewire, and hugging 'Crusher.

And Shortstop was always there. He smiled and laughed right alongside with her, gasped in wonder over the things 'Crusher brought back from across Cybertron, grinned at Fritz's off-color jokes, bickered lovingly with Andromeda, and tried to hide his yawns as Apis and Livewire chatted. And when she wasn't doing so well and the black cloud of misery rolled over her again, he was there to hold her and comfort her and tell her that they were all still here, save that one, and they loved her and they weren't going away anytime soon.

Even with those bad spots, Shorty started to smile again as well. It would be a long, difficult trip back to normalcy for all of them, but Apis was his best friend and that would never change, and they would make it through this.


	18. Prime Directive

**A/N: **This Extra takes place during Chapter 25.

* * *

**Extra 18- Prime Directive**

* * *

"This has to stop."

Optimus Prime's pedes clinked against shattered glass and metal, the smoke burning in his intakes and hazing his optics as he gazed across the ruins of Tyrest. He didn't answer. Behind him, Ratchet unhooked his diagnostic systems from the grey shell of a downed Autobot.

"Prime. This has to stop."

"I know," Optimus answered, voice low and rough from strain. Many mechs had been terminated here, Autobot and Decepticon alike. When it had become apparent that the Autobots wouldn't abandon the city, Starscream had ordered his Decepticons to raze it to the ground.

Optimus turned sad optics to the smoky northern horizon, beyond the wreckage.

_This never would have happened under your command, Nova._

Even after all these vorns, the sting of Nova's capture still bothered him. Nova, as close to him as his own sparkling, one of the dearest mechs to Optimus's Spark. The Prime shuddered to imagine what he might have endured in Ratbat's clutches, and guilt washed through him. He hadn't been able to save Nova, not even exercising his full influence as Prime – his title meant nothing to the Senate now.

_I'm so sorry, Nova. I couldn't save you._

"We all have something to lose to this war," Ratchet said, his tone making it clear that he knew exactly what Optimus was thinking. "Prime… with Starscream and the Senate leading, this war will never end until every Cybertronian is wiped out."

"What can I do, Ratchet?" Optimus asked tiredly. "I'm on the Senate's leash."

"You're the Prime! The people will listen to you."

"I can't simply order them to stop hating the Decepticons."

"All right, then. Just stand there and look pretty like a good figurehead." Ratchet snorted in disgust. "You're too noble for your own good, Prime. What do you want? The Decepticons to remain enslaved?"

"Of course not. Freedom is the right of—"

"—of all sentient beings, yes, I know. What does it _mean_, Prime? It's a pretty slogan. Do you think the Senate knows what it means?"

"But Starscream would never agree to sign any sort of treaty. A Decepticon victory now will not end slavery, no more than an Autobot one."

"I know that, Prime."

The medic was right: this war had to end, but neither Starscream nor the Senate would make any concessions to the other side. Optimus had a duty towards the Autobots, who had placed their faith in the Senate's leadership… but his Spark, his morals, pulled him another way. But he could not stand aside and allow Starscream victory, to see the _Autobots_ enslaved.

Optimus was torn between his two most cherished beliefs, and he could see no way out.

"You see what has to be done, don't you?"

Optimus stared blankly at Ratchet, who glared steadily back.

"We need Nova back."

The larger mech turned away in frustration. "What am I supposed to do? Storm Ratbat's estate? You know I can't do that."

"You won't, but I know someone who will be only too happy to."

"The Senate has me too closely guarded. I can't go to him."

"Have you forgotten already, Prime? Back on Earth it came down to single combat between you and Megatron every time, and you were exchanging more words than blows even then. Do I have to _spell it out_ for you? Primus! You should be ashamed." Ratchet stood considerably shorter than Optimus, but he faced down the larger mech unflinchingly, hands on his hips, optics blazing. "This is Nova, your Nova we're talking about, and you haven't even _tried_ to get him out of there! And don't even _think_ about spouting that 'greater good' nonsense at me. This is best for everyone and you know it. Now get off your aft and _do_ something, Prime!"

The force of the medic's tirade astonished Optimus. Of course, Ratchet was entirely correct, as usual. Optimus had to do this… it was the only way.

* * *

Optimus had never liked Kalis. It was Cybertron's wealthiest city-state besides Iacon, and those who lived there loved to flaunt it. Ever since his humble beginnings as a dockyard worker, Optimus had never approved of the wealthy showing off. Why not use that wealth to improve the lives of others, rather than waste it on this gaudy splendor?

Ratbat's estate was even gaudier than the rest. Optimus hated the place on sight, though he hid his distaste under his mask. Similarly irksome was the sheer number of slaves that Ratbat kept… pitiful creatures, painful to look at. Once these had all been proud Decepticon warriors, and although they were his enemies, he had respected them. It hurt to see how far they had fallen. None of them glanced up for more than a klik, fearful of the whips and shocksticks wielded by Ratbat's guards.

Prime was shown into the smaller of the audience chambers. Though this one was slightly less showy than the other, he would have preferred the glittering display of wealth in the first to what he saw here. This was where the Senator kept the lashrack, a vile hunk of metal covered with old energon. An unfortunate slave lay chained there, shrieking as a guard flayed him with an electrowhip. Senator Ratbat stood watching with a satisfied smirk. When Optimus was announced, the purple-plated mech turned and bowed – mockingly, Prime thought.

"Optimus Prime. What an honor. What brings you to my humble home?"

Anything _but_ humble, Prime thought. "Business," he answered. A topic guaranteed to spark Ratbat's interest; "business" was synonymous with "credits."

Ratbat's smirk widened. "Of what sort?"

This was wrong. The yellow optics held no glow of greed. Ratbat knew why he had come. For once, he wasn't interested in profit. Prime knew then that he'd come here in vain: no amount of credits would convince Ratbat to give him what he wanted, and they both knew it.

"I'm willing to make a generous deal," Prime offered anyway. He remembered all-too-well a similar conversation he'd had long ago with another Senator, one who had wanted to buy his ward, mistakenly believing Nova to be a slave. Prime would give all the wealth he had for Nova's freedom; credits meant nothing to him.

"Once again, Prime, and for the last time, my answer is no. The Senate has expressly forbidden you to have any more contact with the former leader of the Decepticons." Ratbat spoke slowly and clearly, as though Prime were a sparkling.

"Surely we can come to an agreement." The cries of the beaten slave distracted him. He tried not to imagine Nova enduring the same. He had no doubts about the way that Ratbat treated his ward.

"I'm afraid not. I'd be pleased to offer you any of my other slaves for the same price, however."

Optimus argued with him for a time, struggling to keep his temper under control. Ratbat's retorts grew snappish as the Senator lost patience.

At last the Prime drew himself to his full height. "It is the place of the Senate," he said, barely restraining himself, "to represent the ideals of Autobot society. Autobots do not celebrate the pain of others; Autobots do not tolerate cruelty towards sentient beings. If the Senate fails to embody these morals, perhaps an improved governing body is necessary."

Ratbat's aristocratic beauty twisted into a scowl. "Mind your words, Optimus," he hissed, not even bothering with the larger mech's title, "or I'll see you arrested."

"You wouldn't dare," Optimus rumbled.

"No citizen is above the law, isn't that right?" Ratbat answered silkily.

Optimus couldn't speak. He stared at the Senator numbly, his Spark white-hot with shocked fury. Finally he turned and left – he couldn't spend another moment here. One more klik and he would have done something deeply regrettable.

"No luck?" Jazz asked with sympathy as Optimus passed him on the way out.

"None."

"Well… he hasn't changed his mind in the past fifteen vorns, Prime. He's not gonna start now."

Optimus transformed, followed by Jazz and Prowl, and the three of them set off towards Iacon, Prime still stewing.

"How many guards were there?" Prowl asked at last.

"A small army," Jazz answered. "Ratbat's that paranoid."

"I would be as well. If the Decepticons had known that Nova still functioned, any fewer Autobots would have been overrun. What I still don't understand is why Ratbat wouldn't want to reveal him and demoralize the Decepticons."

"Perhaps he knows that it would never work," Prime said, lost in thought. Ratchet's advice weighed heavily on his processor; Optimus had wanted to give Ratbat one last chance to release Nova peacefully. "The Decepticons followed Nova with the same devotion as they did Megatron. Knowing that he was alive, in Autobot hands… it wouldn't demoralize them, only spur them on."

"And Ratbat _would_ know, too, seeing's how he was one and all," Jazz remarked. "The slagger. Anyway, all those soldiers he's got, nothing could ever get through. Same reason we failed before, eight vorns ago. Not even a turborat could get in there without them noticing and blasting it to pieces."

"If you're going to go through with your plan, we'll need to help Starscream," Prowl said, putting into words what Optimus had been thinking. "It will take thinking… perhaps instigating a Decepticon attack. Your military authority as Prime allows you to call many of Ratbat's soldiers into battle."

"That seems to be the only authority I have lately," Prime answered dryly, thinking of Ratbat's threat.

"You're the Prime, Prime. If you took the power that you're supposed to have, if you actually used it… you could end this war, Optimus, you know you could. But first we've gotta get Nova out of there."

Optimus didn't answer. He listened as Prowl listed off several feasible plans to draw soldiers away from Ratbat's estate, facilitating Starscream's rescue mission. Things could not go on like this. Ratbat and the Senate had seized too much power. And now a Senator claimed the authority to arrest the Prime himself?

His experience with other civilizations had taught Prime the value of a democratic government, one in which the ruler obeyed the will of the people. The Senate was anything _but_ democratic. Each Senator looked out for himself, for his own benefit.

Things had to change. The first step would be to end this war… which would never happen with Nova enslaved.

He would speak to Starscream. He would merely pass on information; what Starscream did after that was his own choice, and Optimus would be able to say truthfully that he'd had no involvement. Nova would be free… this war could at last be ended.

* * *

The Autobots still under Prime's command instigated a skirmish, with strict orders to retreat rather than stand and fight, to avoid unnecessary destruction. Optimus made himself visible in the thick of things and waited.

Predictably, Starscream came in shooting, hovering above the ground, optics afire as his cannons tore the ground near Optimus. Prime answered with a warning shot, intentionally skimming Starscream's wing.

"I wish to talk," he called. Starscream sneered, but his customary amusement was gone and only hard anger remained. He had suffered through these past vorns.

"I don't want to _talk_, Prime," he spat, firing again. Optimus ducked aside, lowering his weapon as he was showered with debris, dodging closer. Starscream refused to land, but just before the Seeker rocketed out of range, Prime dove at him, managing to bring him to the ground. The Decepticon hissed and slashed out with his claws. Optimus winced as Starscream left a painful gash in his mask, but he didn't let go. He had to deliver his message. He pinned the Seeker down before he spoke.

"He's alive."

Starscream went completely still, his optics going wide in shock. Then, surging up in a display of strength that Optimus hadn't known the Seeker possessed, Starscream slammed the heavier mech into the ground with a resounding clang, his humming null-rays wedged under the Autobot's jaw.

"_Where?_" he rasped, optics burning with ferocious intensity.

"Kalis," Prime answered quietly. "With Senator Ratbat."

For a moment Starscream perched, tense enough to snap under pressure, and Optimus could feel hot air bursting in gasps from his pectoral vents. He could only imagine what was happening in the flier's Spark. To believe his sparkling dead for so long, long enough to twist him further into this guilt-ridden, hateful creature, and then to suddenly learn otherwise… what emotions must have torn at him?

Then the Seeker shoved off and streaked into the sky. Within cycles the Decepticons had retreated. Optimus listened to the cheering of his Autobots and stood silent, hands clasped behind his back. He still frowned beneath his mask, but not as heavily as before.

Optimus Prime doubted that his guilt over Nova's fate would ever be assuaged, but his conscience settled more easily now.

_Hold on for just a little while longer, Nova._


	19. Indelible Scars

**A/N: Spoilers for Chapter 26.**

This one's by Lemur.

* * *

**Extra 19- Indelible Scars**

* * *

When Nova came back from the Autobots, he was… different.

Ramrod had been there when Skywarp brought their leader back, had stared in horror and seethed with anger at Nova's injuries (the only remaining wing flayed down to the struts, the stub of the other burned and covered in hand-shaped dents, his pedes burnt, his heel-thrusters shattered, his cockpit gone, the internals beneath it scarred and disarrayed, his face tarnished and scuffed and dented and covered in harsher lines, the wires in his throat stripped, his optics hollow, empty, dazed, sullen) and he remembered how he had once looked down on Nova for not having known like the rest of them what it was to be a slave.

Guilt wormed in beside the horror and anger. He wished Nova was still ignorant of a Decepticon's side of slavery.

They let him into the repair bay. It was common knowledge that he and Nova had been friends.

The medbay was practically empty; Hook had sealed it off save for his gestalt and a select other few in order to prevent a gaping crowd looking on while he and his brothers repaired their leader.

Nova was eerily docile and still under their hands. He had refused to be offlined for this, and it was unsettling to see how he just shut down internally as their hands moved over him. It was a far cry from how he used to fidget and twitch on the table like any Seeker.

Finally they retreated, their work done, save for Nova's cockpit and codpiece. The former was completely gone, and the latter was practically stripped of paint, dented, and looked thoroughly mangled and used. Ramrod tried not to dwell to long on what that meant. Unfortunately, the moment the Constructicons' hands strayed near either, Nova started thrashing about wildly. He said nothing, his lips sealed into a thin line, but his optics were wild and panicked and... scared. There was also a curious deadness to them, as if part of him had accepted that others were going to touch these areas regardless of whether Nova wanted it or not.

And that scared Ramrod more than the most horrific of his friend's injuries.

The Constructicons backed off, holding their hands up to show they weren't going to do anything. Aside from those two areas, Nova was good as new, exactly as he had been before. It was clear that that only applied to his physical condition, however. Now he quivered with nervous, frightened energy, his optics flickering from one friendly face to the next, his shoulders hunched and his body curled up defensively.

"What?" their leader hissed, shrinking away from them. "Stop staring at me." His optics were wild and half-feral. He jumped off the berth and pushed past all of them, headed for the door.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Hook said. When Nova turned on him, the medic raised his hands in a gesture of peace. "I simply meant that there is a crowd out there and in your… condition, I do not think you are in any shape to deal with a large, jostling group of mechs who will doubtlessly want to touch you to reassure themselves that you're back."

That made Nova stiffen, his wings twitching nervously. Hook's hands lowered and he seemed to soften. "They missed you, you know," he said gently, but Nova only snarled and stormed towards the sky-entrance where the Seekers and other fliers would drop in from during and after battles. It was horrible, watching him hesitate for several long moments before taking off. He'd been denied the sky so long that he wasn't sure about his ability to soar through it.

While Hook and the others went to disperse the crowd in front of the main doors, Ramrod slipped out a side entrance. He knew where Nova was going.

* * *

Sure enough, Nova had gone to the training grounds.

Ramrod lingered at the archway, watching Nova stumble through his old routines with no small amount of awkward pity, remorse, and guilt. Nearly fifteen vorns in slavery had made Nova's skills rusty, and it hurt to see him like this.

He watched as Nova tried one set of moves he had used to know perfectly, trying over and over and over again, swearing and slashing angrily at the practice dummy when he couldn't get it right.

"It's _lunge,_ swipe, pivot, leap," Ramrod corrected him. "You can't step at first because then you don't get the proper amount of power behind the swipe."

Nova flinched and whirled on him, his guns raised, denta bared in a snarl as he backed away from the intruder. Ramrod raised his arms defensively, walking into the room along the curve of the wall so that he didn't crowd his friend.

"Just me, Nova. No one else."

Nova growled at him nonetheless, but finally lowered his guns and turned back to his practice. Still, when he resumed his clumsy attacks, he took Ramrod's advice and was all the better for it. He looked surprised at himself for being able to do it correctly. It made him _almost_ smile, and being able to coax even that much from his friend brought Ramrod a surprising amount of joy and relief.

It meant that Nova, the old Nova, was still in there. This was still their Nova. Just more weathered, more scarred, more world-weary.

Ramrod watched the Seeker's almost-flawless body move through patterns that had been mostly forgotten, the unseen scars left from his captivity as apparent in his fighting style as they were in his mannerisms.

"Here," the red mech said, moving forward slowly to give Nova ample warning of his approach. He took Nova's wrist and gently turned it several degrees to the right. "You have the farthest, widest reach possible from here, while your claws are still angled for maximum damage." He released Nova's hand and stepped back to what he judged to be a comfortable distance for the Seeker.

But Nova did not immediately return to his practice. He stared at his wrist for a moment, flexing and turning it experimentally, and then looked up at Ramrod, his optics giving off a muted glow instead of that frenzied, nervous, feral flame that had been burning in them before. "Why?" he asked, his voice still rough and rasping from vorns of disuse.

He could have come back with a smartaft, flippant remark about it being because Nova's form _sucked,_ but one look at this new Nova's haggard, drawn face and the flippancy died on his lips.

"Because I want to help you heal," was what he finally settled for, his optics dead serious as he looked at his friend.

And he did. Scars were a curious thing for their people – when limbs could be swapped out like accessories, when entire systems and plating could be replaced, you only kept a physical scar if you wanted one or if you couldn't afford to be fixed. The only scars that were truly indelible were the ones of the mind and spark.

Ramrod didn't know what the Senator had done to Nova during those fifteen vorns, and quite frankly he was afraid to know what it had taken to break his friend. Whatever Ratbat had done to Nova, it had left the Seeker with deep psychological scars. The physical ones were easy to smooth away and paint over, but the mental ones were not. There was a good chance that many were incapable of being healed.

But, Ramrod swore as Nova looked hard at him and then shrugged and returned to his exercises, he would do the best he could to help Nova through his. He would heal those indelible scars.

**A/N: **(Of course, he would probably need quite a bit of help from Apis with this, but sssshhh!)


	20. Over

**A/N: **This has been up on Rise_Revolution for a while, but I decided to put it up here (because more people should be subjected to it... I mean... should read it...).

An **alternate universe**: what could have happened instead of Chapter 25. This was actually eating at me ever since I wrote Extra 5.

This is… really dark.

* * *

**Extra 20- Over**

* * *

It was over.

He hid in the network of tunnels and caverns beneath Kaon, intakes coming in rapid bursts as his energon dripped onto the ground at his pedes. At least, some of it was his, coming from the wound the last Autobot had managed to land on him before Ramrod had wrenched out the cabling of his neck. He had such strength lately, fueled by anger and grief, the desire for revenge which would never be satisfied, no matter how many Autobot Sparks he snuffed. A thousand of their Sparks weren't worth the one that had been lost.

Approaching steps warned him that the surviving Autobot—was there more than one? No matter. He could defeat them anyway—was searching for him. He crouched, gripping his staff tightly; by now it was so battered that it barely fit back into his arm, and so stained and scratched that it was nowhere near its original color. The same could be said for the rest of him; he blended into his surroundings, the ruins of Kaon, like one of the former Ghost Unit. They knew there was at least one survivor here. That was why they kept sending patrols... and those patrols never returned. He always made sure of that.

He sprang into action, leaping around the corner and barely registering that there were, in fact, two Autobots before he was on them. He took one to the ground with a clang and seized its helm, twisting viciously to the side until he heard the crack. The other Autobot had a blaster which he tried unsuccessfully to aim; the shot left a scorch mark on the ceiling as Ramrod barreled into him. The bot managed to send the staff spinning to the ground, but the Decepticon was more than capable of fighting without it. The blaster fired again; this time Ramrod hissed in pain, hastily deadening the pain sensors and damage alerts from his shoulder. He wasn't finished. Not yet. Not ever, not until they had all paid for what they had done.

He'd seen it. Everyone had. He hadn't been there in person... he could have changed it, he could have stopped it.

He wrenched open the Autobot's chestplates and crushed the delicate Spark chamber beneath. Only the sight of the blue optics going abruptly dark calmed his fury, and he let the greying shell fall. He followed immediately after, finally heeding the warnings that had blinked in his vision for orns now, alerting him to his extremely low fuel level. He leaned over and disconnected one of the fuel lines leading to the Autobot's Spark chamber, lowering his head to drink, the distaste of the act having gone out of it long before. This was how he survived, now, alone in the ruins. As far as he knew the rest were gone, dead or enslaved. He was the only one left, the last rebel... a soldier without a commander.

His Spark ached and he let out a desperate almost-sob, pressing a hand to the energon spilling from his wounded shoulder. Torsion's pain echoed his, welling up from deep inside his Spark.

_I said I would always be there when you needed me._

* * *

She had given up trying to smile. There was no sense in pretending; it only hurt more. He was gone. There was nothing to smile about. The Decepticons were slaves and so would the Neutrals be, soon, when the Senate got their way. There was nobody to stop them.

She kept to herself, stayed safe in her room, rusting slightly at her joints, and sometimes she pretended he was still there, and she would talk to him but he would make no answer, and the illusion would collapse, and she would be alone again.

What was the point? He was gone.

She'd seen it. Everyone had. If she'd been there... if she'd been there... would it be worse? If she had actually been there, among the crowd that had gathered, would he have seen her and... what? Would it have hurt more, for both of them?

_Stop it. Don't think about it. Don't even try to imagine it... what it must have been like..._

So most of the time she tried to think of nothing at all.

A chime. From the door, she realized dully.

"Apis?" It was Shortstop again. She remained where she was, sitting on her berth and staring out of the window, her little projects lying dusty and forgotten in front of her, or scattered across the floor. His gifts were there too, the little things he'd given her. Sometimes she wanted to throw them away, so she would never have to look at them again; the memories were painful now, so painful that at times she couldn't bear it... but she always stopped herself at the last moment, unwilling to let go. The memory of him... it was all she had.

"Apis, it's me."

If she didn't answer, she knew from experience, he would open the door and leave her an energon cube right on the berth. At first he'd tried to talk to her, but she had never answered, so he rarely tried any more.

The door slid open and she heard his steps. Something clinked softly on the berth. He was standing there, watching; she couldn't bring herself to care. Finally he left, the door closing quietly behind him. She stared at the sky. She'd gone up there with him. She never could again. He was gone.

* * *

He stood by the window, watching nothing. It was too late; he could do nothing now. The Senate was in charge. The Decepticons were slaves, and probably always would be. He would still try. He and his closest friends—the last true Autobots—would still work in secret, as much as they could.

But there was little hope; even Optimus admitted it now. The Decepticons, even if they were made free, would remain bitter. The War would never end. Not without him. The last chance at peace was gone.

He'd seen it. Everyone had. He had been there himself. No matter how he had wanted to stay home, to turn off the vidscreen and offline his audios and optics, he had gone to watch.

It occurred to him that this may only have made it more painful, on both of them, but he had gone. He had memorized the scene. The light glinting off of mechs' armor. The strange hush of the crowd, despite its size. The brief speech. The shot. The horrible silence that had seemed to stretch on forever... the clang of metal on metal.

And it had been over. Everything they had been working towards was wiped clean in a few cycles. The crowd had dispersed, still quiet; there was the occasional low murmur, but mostly oppressive silence. Optimus had stayed until the very last, seen them take him away. He knew where they had gone with him, but he had not been to see. He could not bear it... to see him like that.

All he could do was wait, and work in secrecy, and try not to give in to the despair that hung over the planet like thick fog, that had taken so many of them. But he could not save the Decepticons now. Nor could he save the mechs that the Autobots had become.

_I couldn't even save you._

* * *

They hadn't known quite what to do with him. It was true that he was not _dead_, though he certainly was no longer completely alive. Some had wanted to lock him away, saying that the mere glow of his optics might encourage the Decepticons to try something, but in the end the rest of them had prevailed, saying that he was obviously in no condition to lead anyone.

At first he had been waiting, plotting, scheming. If they tried to use him they would be sorry. They would discover why he had been the Decepticons' second-in-command.

And then he had learned his sentence, when they had put him up there in that cage. That in itself was frustrating, humiliating, but it would not have been enough to stop him, on its own.

But they had arranged the cage so that it faced him.

He'd seen it. Everyone had. He'd watched on the vidscreen, unable to look away, his Spark twisting and burning behind his chestplates. He'd seen what they'd done to him and the sight had almost made him purge his tanks... and Starscream was never squeamish. But the sight of him like that had been terrible. Painful.

And here he was, right across from the Seeker, arranged so that sightless optics stared directly at him, and he couldn't move enough to turn away, couldn't even spin his cage. He could only offline his optics, and that didn't help; the other cage creaked incessantly, rocking in the slightest breeze, a reminder of its presence however much Starscream tried to ignore it.

It had worked. The Senator had known it would, had smirked at him in that awful, knowing way. Had asked him how it felt to fail so spectacularly. How it felt to have lost everything. And now instead of plotting his escape, planning his return and the Decepticons' triumph, he lost himself in the darkened optics across the way.

His own Spark was his worst enemy. Megatron had not known, when he had forced him to swear those oaths—none of them had known until the Senate had tried to do to Starscream what they had done to… him. Until he had fallen to the floor, his chestplates scorched and melted and smoking, his Spark chamber warped, but alive.

"Why don't you kill me?" he rasped sometimes when the Senator came to admire them. But the answer was simple. _We tried. We can't._

They fueled him occasionally, now, as a courtesy; at first they had not, curious to see what it would take to kill him, and that had not worked. And now his Spark burned incessantly, a constant reminder of his failure; he had broken a Spark-oath and any other mech would have been dead, but not Starscream. Not the Seeker with the mutant Spark. He must live with the pain, staring at the consequences of his failure, for as long as they saw fit to keep him there. And they would always wish to keep him there. No one had yet tried to save him; those who passed through this place, this broad public square, hurried through with their optics downturned, conversations falling silent as they came within sight of it. Of him. Of them, the fallen ones. Some would glance up, furtive, frightened, then dart past with a shiver of plating.

Leaving him to endlessly contemplate what had befallen, to wonder how he could have changed it, and to realize that this only made it more painful, and that there was nothing he could have done.

* * *

He'd seen it. Everyone had. In fact, he'd had the best view of all; he had stood on the platform, along with the executioner. Watched as they dragged him up, the mech too beaten to support his own weight, too off-balance to move properly... off-balance because they had decided, or rather Ratbat himself had decided, that one last delicious humiliation was called for. So he had been stripped first, and they brought him out wingless, broken.

The crowd, which the Senate's enforcers had gathered from all corners of the city—nearly all Decepticon slaves, but some misguided Autobots as well—had been completely silent, and in that silence Ratbat had heard despair. He had looked down at the other mech, and he'd seen dull scarlet optics, only a faint glimmer of resistance left; Ratbat had done an excellent job breaking him, and he didn't even struggle when they pushed him to his knees.

He'd spoken briefly to the crowd, something official-sounding, requested by the rest of the Senate, but he was eager to move on. The best was yet to come. The guards had used their combined strength to wrench his chestplates apart, and he had expressed vague, resigned pain, his features tightening briefly, but he made no sound. Unlike Ratbat's earliest fantasies, he didn't snarl, didn't glare; he was broken too thoroughly, and merely watched the barrel of the rifle with something close to curiosity as it was wedged between his parted chestplates, resting against his Spark chamber.

He had thought long and hard about this, and in the end the Senator had decided that simple was best, to have the greatest impact on everyone who saw it, and everyone would see it... they were broadcasting live to every network. Even in Kaon, they would see this. Especially in Kaon.

In the end it only took a klik. There was a flash from the blaster, the shot echoing off all the surfaces, and for the briefest moment his optics lit up brightly, Spark flaring madly as the energy from the rifle tore through it, and then it was over, and the body fell onto the platform. No noise from the crowd. He had sent the guards to disperse the gathering; more took the body away. He followed to oversee its installation into the cage.

Now that the Decepticon rebellion had been crushed, he knew perfect satisfaction. What could be better than having his former jailer as his slave? What could be better than having Starscream suspended where he could gaze at the remains, where he had no choice but to reflect on it? What could be better than having the wings mounted on his walls, one (the one that had been repaired before they had torn it off) in his office and one over his berth? He had won.

It was over.


	21. Love

**A/N: **This Extra corresponds with **Chapter 31**. Spoilers.

**Extra 21- Love**

Torsion had loved Nova since the moment Ramrod had laid optics on him.

Ramrod's feelings had been decidedly less romantic; he'd challenged Nova to a duel at once, driven by anger, by his hatred of the Autobots, but Torsion—to his own surprise—had exerted control over him, enough to sway the fight Nova's way. He sometimes wondered, along with a sheepish Ramrod, whether _Nova_ had ever wondered why Ramrod had lost that fight. Why, when Nova had been untrained and untested, set against Ramrod, who had killed a mech in his first duel and had strength and experience on his side?

_I could never hurt him._

The first vorns had been agony—to betray Nova, _Nova_, who was his everything. Yet ultimately Torsion had chosen Nova over Highbrow, and he became an acknowledged passenger-parasite to Ramrod, whose feelings toward Nova had never quite ventured beyond friendship.

Yet it was as Nova had said—they shared a Spark; what one felt, the other did too. It was only when Ramrod became aware of Torsion that he started to develop other, stronger emotions toward his friend and commander.

And it was only after Helex that the two of them had shared their grief, resolved their differences. For Torsion it meant trying to grasp the strength of his other half, his courage, his willpower, all the things that he'd always wanted but had never thought to have. For Ramrod, it meant accepting that his feelings for Nova were far more complicated than he might like.

Decepticons did not "love." It was too dangerous to form more than casual attachment to anything or anyone who could be stolen away by war any orn. That, perhaps, had been why Ramrod had been so slow to accept Torsion's feelings as his own—to be attached to anything was to invite its loss.

And Helex had come, and Ramrod had lost the only thing, the only person, to whom he had ever formed an attachment.

Their reunion, Ramrod's and Torsion's, had been slow and cautious, the one suspicious, the other shy. But they had grown, had accepted each other's strengths and weaknesses alike, and unity only made them stronger.

Few people knew about the two of them—only the command team, and that mostly on his word and Nova's, since Torsion preferred to let Ramrod do the talking. Torsion, to his delight, had found a way to be of use: he knew a great deal about Autobot intelligence, and he had the patience that Ramrod lacked to go over things in meticulous detail.

They improved on and off the battlefield, learning each other, skirting around the aching hole that Nova's loss had rent through their Spark.

And then Nova came _back,_ and the painful period of repairs, of healing in one way or another, had begun. Nova's obvious mistrust tore the hole a little bit wider each orn. Nova's absence, and his coldness when he returned, had taught Ramrod—had taught both of them—the depth of their feelings towards the startlingly fragile Seeker. It hurt, watching him rip himself apart, teetering on the very brink of insanity, and knowing that there was nothing that either of them could do to help him.

They had warrior's hands, not gentle, and a touch could easily have pushed Nova over the edge, broken him past repair. No matter how badly they wanted to help him, to hold him, to comfort and soothe and heal, they could not, for Nova's sake.

Apis had the power to help Nova. She was calm and gentle and soothing, everything that they were not, and he needed her. Not a fighter. He needed _her_. He deserved someone so kind and caring and affectionate and…

So they had stepped back and let her be what they never could to Nova, and it took all their love for him to do it. They could not complain—how could they, when seeing her, being with her… bonding with her… clearly did him such good? It wasn't as though Nova could ever have bonded with _them_. He deserved better. He deserved Apis, not someone split in two, damaged, confused.

They stamped down ruthlessly on envy, on annoyance that it had taken Apis's intervention to make Nova even _speak_ to them again. Nova's smile was back, and that was worth the anguish, the burning cold and freezing heat of their Spark.

And then the unthinkable: Apis's kidnapping.

It should have been their chance—many other mechs would have been secretly overjoyed that the way had been cleared. But they loved Nova too much to think of that; only of his terrible sorrow and rage and fear, despair coming back into the face that had only just remembered joy.

Ramrod and Torsion could not allow it to happen. Even though Apis's continued presence meant that they could never, never tell Nova, show him how they felt, they could not live if he returned to what he had been after Kalis. If Nova needed Apis in order to be Nova—the Nova they loved for his energy and his voice and his passion and his laugh and his Spark—then they would give him Apis.

"I'll go after her."

Nova looked up suddenly, and the terrible hope in his face made despair claw at their throat, sickness rise up in their internals, but they forced it down. They would do anything to keep Nova happy.

"Why? You… hardly know her."

Nova. Nova was so beautiful… in every way, every single way, and they felt their Spark breaking.

_He's not for us. Never._

"I'm not doing this for her."

It was the last kiss. They should not have done it—Nova was bonded—surely it would give them away, ruin Nova's perfect happiness. The sooner they brought Apis back, the sooner Nova could forget, could return to blissful ignorance. They loved Nova too much to endanger his happiness selfishly.

_We're doing it for you._


	22. 50Sentence Challenge

**A/N:** These go all over the place. Some are silly, some dark, some sad. They are DEFINITELY not in chronological order. Some take place far in the future (Earth never appears in Rise) and some in the past. Some didn't even happen.

To be safe, let's assume **spoilers** through the end of Rise.

* * *

**Extra 22- 50-Sentence Challenge**

* * *

01. Comfort  
Skywarp burrowed into me, wings shaking and intakes hitching, and we drew comfort from each other's closeness, doing our best to forget what we had lost.

02. Kiss  
I had let too many of Ramrod's safe, crash-free kisses lull me into a false sense of security, but I paid for it in full the next time I woke up with Apis giggling over me.

03. Soft  
Starscream's optics and glossa may have been sharp with anyone else, but there was an undeniable softness in them when he turned them on his wingmates.

04. Pain  
Once I had lived free from pain; it was only after those long vorns that I understood the value of what I'd had.

05. Potatoes  
As much as the humans fascinated me, I always hated to fly one anywhere, for they sat in my cockpit like – as the human expression went – a sack of potatoes.

06. Rain  
We hadn't had rain on Cybertron since long before I was Sparked, so the copious rainfall on Earth fascinated me, and often I stood outside in a deluge, staring up into the clouds and thinking how much Hurricane would have loved this place.

07. Chocolate  
The smile on Apis's face as she opened the box of energon goodies was well worth all the frustration I'd gone through to find it.

08. Happiness  
For me, happiness was my first memories of soaring through the air – not on my own power, but propelled there by Optimus's strong arms – while knowing that Prime's hands were there to catch me.

09. Telephone  
"Nova, pay attention," Starscream snapped, and I guiltily diverted my attention from my comlink, where Ramrod had been whispering some truly enticing suggestions for the next time we met in his quarters.

10. Ears  
"_Don't use His name in vain_," Sunstorm hissed, and as he flounced off, Skywarp turned incredulously to me and whispered, "How does he even hear me?"

11. Name  
"Did you know that your designation was once Starscream's?" Thundercracker asked, then continued at my headshake, "He was Nova too, long ago."

12. Sensual  
"Well," Ramrod purred from where I'd finally managed to pin him, running his hands sensually up my sides to play with the joint where my wings met my back, "we don't have to stop here, you know."

13. Death  
"I thought you'd died once," Apis whispered, burying her face in the crook of my neck. "Don't make me go through that again."

14. Sex  
Apis's vents whirred as she sprawled out over my chest; she looked up at me, grinning broadly, and ventured, "Again?"

15. Touch  
Cold purple fingers on my wings made me shudder, turning my face away and trying to pretend I was anywhere else, and that the touch was just as honest and innocent as it would have been with anyone else.

16. Weakness  
The smoke thrown up by the explosion clogged all of my vents and I went into a spin, unable to both regain my bearings and clear my intakes, but then Skywarp's hands grabbed me and dragged me into blessedly clear sky once more.

17. Tears  
Sometimes I woke to a noticeably warmer room to see Sunstorm perched on the end of my berth, wings shaking, crying softly at the empty place where his wingmates should have been.

18. Speed  
"Next time you're not allowed to fly," Apis panted as she ran up to me, vents heaving, "you slaggin' cheater!"

19. Wind  
Sometimes I was truly grateful for the murderous high-speed winds that discouraged me from flying over the burnt-out ruin that had once been Simfur.

20. Freedom  
I stretched out my wings and fired up my thrusters, taking to the sky, and spent only a moment to relish my inbuilt freedom before allowing the sheer joy of flight to sweep me away.

21. Life  
The tiny, winged forms shifted and chirred, small red optics blinking up at me, and I marveled at their very existence… how had we two managed to create life?

22. Jealousy  
"You know," murmured Ramrod, his fingers shifting slightly on my chest, "sometimes I wish I could be for you what your little femme is… but then I remember that I agreed to this when we started out, so I should be grateful for what I have."

23. Hands  
My clearest memories of my sparklinghood are Prime's hands; he was simply too big for me to comprehend, like some benevolent giant, but his hands were familiar territory.

24. Taste  
I didn't drink high-grade often, so when I did it hit me _hard_ and it was remarkably easy to fall into Ramrod's embrace, tasting the energon we'd sampled again on his glossa.

25. Devotion  
Prime's Autobots followed him with loyalty bordering on devotion; I would count myself a success only when the Decepticons followed me with the same.

26. Forever  
I hung between the land and the stars, the wind cool beneath my wings, wishing that moments like this could last forever.

27. Blood  
The cleaning fluids ran over my frame and I let them, sitting against the wall of the washracks and burying my face in my energon-stained hands.

28. Sickness  
When I woke up, Optimus sat beside me, and I realized that he hadn't left my side since the virus had set in.

29. Melody  
Human music was vastly different from Cybertronian, I thought, but that didn't mean it was inferior by any means.

30. Star  
If he was up there somewhere, which I had a feeling he must have been, I wanted him to see me, so I waved at the sky without shame.

31. Home  
They were a dead mech's quarters, but they were my sanctuary, and I loved them.

32. Confusion  
"Rumble… I mean, Frenzy… no, you're… gaah, never mind, _whoever_ you are, tell Soundwave I'd like to speak with him in the Command Center in two breems."

33. Fear  
I wasn't afraid of death, or capture, or torture, or defeat; all I feared was that one orn, Optimus might be at the other end of one of my swords.

34. Thunder  
Storms on Earth always brought to my processor hands gently stroking my wings as I drifted slowly into recharge.

35. Bonds  
When I looked into their quarters to see Starscream curled up into Skywarp, looking smaller and weaker than I'd ever seen him as he sobbed silently into his wingmate's lap, I wished I hadn't seen it; I couldn't imagine the pain of a mech who had lost three bondmates and clung desperately to his fourth.

36. Market  
Most mechs had bondmates who would ogle fancy, expensive plating or fine (and again, expensive) energon on a bustling, stall-filled street, so when Apis sighed longingly over nothing but some drab-looking but serviceable tools, I counted myself lucky.

37. Technology  
"Sabot rounds," I said into the silence, "adapted from the humans… we'll use the Autobots' own weapon against them."

38. Gift  
I hadn't thought anyone would care about my two hundredth creation date anniversary, but it seemed that Starscream had remembered after all, judging by the palm-sized lump of something shiny and metallic on the berth beside me when I came out of recharge; I didn't know what was so special about a rock, but gifts from my creator were so few and far between that I treasured it anyway.

39. Smile  
When Optimus retracted his mask and smiled at me, I thought my Spark was going to burst from pride.

40. Innocence  
We lay side by side on the roof, hands locked together as we watched the sky, and when she squeezed lightly, I turned my head to smile at her.

41. Completion  
"Not yet, Nova," Ramrod gasped as I dug my claws into his shoulders, arching up to increase the contact between us, Spark flaring and vents roaring, "not yet… it gets better…"

42. Clouds  
Cybertron had clouds, thin, wispy things, but Earth's clouds were damper, darker, and infinitely more fun to fly through.

43. Sky  
The entire armada lifted off into the sky with a roar of engines, all at those five small words ringing from my vocalizer: "Decepticons, transform and rise up!"

44. Heaven  
If there was a Matrix, then surely Primus opened it for those who fought for what was right.

45. Hell  
I'd once been told that there was a place deep in the Pit that was reserved for murderers; when I thought of all the Autobots I'd killed, I wondered where my Spark was headed.

46. Sun  
He flew well enough, but it wasn't that that attracted the optics, rather the way the light flashed off of his golden plating, making him gleam as brightly as the messenger he claimed to be.

47. Moon  
The first time I went to one of the moonbases, I stared at Cybertron for at least a breem… _this_ was what I fought for, so that my Decepticons could have their share of this beautiful, fragile planet laid out before me.

48. Waves  
The ocean was another feature of the Earth not shared by Cybertron; I could stand on the cliffs for megacycles, watching the waves crash on the shore.

49. Hair  
I tweaked her little handlebars and Apis squeaked, smacking my hand away, but she was smiling anyway.

50. Supernova  
"We've got an idea for your adult name," one of the cassette twins announced; I had a feeling that I would be less than impressed.


	23. Nightmare

**A/N:** Takes place somewhere between Chapter 34 and 35.

* * *

**Extra 23- Nightmare**

* * *

His smile was sharp and dark, his optics searing into mine. My limbs felt heavy and immovable; my struggles were weak.

"You can't escape me," he hissed into my audios. "You're mine, and you always will be. _Mine_."

His energy field invaded mine, his hands wrenching my chest open to reach inside and claim me, and I thrashed and cried out, fighting with all my dwindling strength to stop him… why was I so weak, why couldn't I fight him, why couldn't I—

"Wake up!"

I jolted free of the nightmare, intakes cycling rapidly, and for a moment the weight atop me convinced me that I was still there, still trapped under Ratbat, but after a moment I realized that the optics above me were orange and red, not pale yellow. Relief surged through my Spark.

"Apis? Ramrod?"

"Nova! You scared us!" Apis held me tightly, snuggling closer, while Ramrod pressed his lips to my cheek.

"Another nightmare?" he asked.

I nodded, relaxing slowly from my battle-ready tension as my systems calmed. I still felt oddly weak. "I thought I was still there… with him."

Apis took my face in her hands and kissed me. "He's gone," she whispered. "We've got you, Nova. You're safe now."

I reached up sluggishly to embrace them, one in each arm. "I feel strange."

They exchanged glances, looking sheepish.

"Well, you were thrashing around a bit…" Ramrod said, unable to contain a grin. "I think the twins panicked."

Two pairs of tiny red optics peeked over their shoulders, followed by two small Seekers. The one on Apis chirred; the other beeped. I extended the hug to them as well; they crawled onto my chest, purring in contentment as I stroked their tiny wings, reassuring them that I was all right. Apis nuzzled my face while Ramrod petted my wings.

"Are you okay now?" she asked.

I smiled at her, banishing the nightmare to the darkest corner of my processor as I felt both of their Sparks sending reassurance and love.

"Much better."


	24. Heights

**A/N:** Takes place after the end of Rise.

* * *

**Extra 24- Heights**

* * *

The first time we took Ramrod up to the rooftop was at night. We lay and looked at the stars, a warm frame on either side of me, and I smiled in contentment – it felt so right here, with both of them, and I was happier than I had ever been. I found their hands and squeezed tightly, making them both turn to look at me, smiles dimly lit by their optics.

The second time, it was daylight, and suddenly Ramrod looked much less comfortable. He hung back towards the stairs while Apis and I chatted. Finally, she looked back to find Ramrod still there, optics looking strange. She poked me and I glanced at him too.

"Something wrong, Ramrod?" I asked.

"No. Nothing." Was it just me, or did his voice sound choked? Apis and I exchanged a crafty glance.

_/What's he hiding?/_

_/I'm not sure. But I feel something strange./_

Ramrod sat stiffly on a crate next to the stairwell door, looking across the city at the horizon. His Spark was giving off odd signals. I frowned; I was new at this bondmate business, so it was difficult to interpret right away. Nervousness? No, fear.

"Come here," I said lightly. He hesitated, then got up and approached, steps noticeably shuffling. The feelings grew worse the closer he got to us. He stopped a few astrometers from the roof's edge, further from us than his customary distance. Apis and I looked at each other again, our suspicions confirmed. I couldn't fight back a grin.

"Ramrod… are you afraid of heights?"

Ramrod's optics flushed. "I'm not afraid of anything!" he said quickly. _Too_ quickly, I thought.

"It's all right," Apis assured him, though she, too, was grinning, and rather wickedly at that. "Shorty's always been scared of heights too." (I filed that away for future use.) "And I was terrified the first time Nova took me flying."

"It's Torsion who's scared," Ramrod muttered, pouting adorably.

"Don't give us that! If he's afraid, then you are too."

"No, I'm not!" he insisted, and to prove it he took two steps closer, glancing anxiously at the edge of the roof. Apis turned to me, and her smirk would have made Starscream proud.

"I don't think you've taken him flying before," she said. "Have you?"

"Come to think of it, I haven't," I answered, turning to look Ramrod over. "I don't know, he might be too heavy for me. I might drop him."

Ramrod's optics paled visibly. He backpedaled to the center of the roof. "No, that's fine, I don't mind staying here, really."

"It never hurts to try," I urged, activating my thrusters. Ramrod dodged my swoop, ducking into the stairwell.

"Slaggers!" I heard him shout, and by the time I landed, he had disappeared. Apis joined me at the door, taking my hand.

"We hurt him," she said softly. I nodded – I could feel it in my Spark, a dark, sad corner that I couldn't quite reach from here. "We need to apologize."

I led the way down the stairs, following the feeling in my Spark.

We found him at the very bottom, sitting on the last step with hunched shoulders. We sat on either side of him.

"Ramrod?"

He shook his head. Torsion, then.

"I'm sorry I teased you," I said, leaning slightly against him.

"So am I," Apis added. "I'm sorry, Torsion. And Ramrod."

"It's all right," Torsion answered. "I don't mind. But Ramrod thinks it's a weakness."

"It isn't," I said in surprise. "You're a groundling. You're not used to heights like I am."

"Why are you telling _me_?" Torsion smiled at Apis and me. "I'll call him back, and you can let him know."

"We'd better stop him from running off again," the femme giggled. We wound our arms around him, hugging him tightly.

After a moment, Ramrod grumbled, "I'm not afraid of anything."

"It's all right to be scared," Apis murmured, kissing him on the cheek.

I ran my fingers along the rim of the wheel that I could reach. "And it's not a weakness."

"It's a stupid thing to be afraid of." Ramrod's voice was slightly muffled behind someone's arm.

"No, it's not. It's natural." I tried to send something soothing across our bond. "Look at me. I'm afraid of confined spaces. Sometimes they make me too sick even to move unless someone helps me."

"And I'm terrified of losing people close to me," Apis added. "It's nothing to be ashamed of."

I felt a warm flood of _lovecomfortlove_ from her, sent to both Ramrod and me, and my Spark reciprocated automatically, pulsing out _lovecalmlovelove_. Ramrod brightened.

"Just make sure neither of you gets into trouble in a high place, or I might not be able to protect you like I'm supposed to."

"We forgive you," I answered, nuzzling under his jaw.


	25. The Twins

**A/N: **Introducing the terrible twins, and their remarkably patient future trinemate. Presented by Dancinglemur, who's written a bunch of stuff with the kids. All of them.

* * *

**Extra 25- The Twins**

* * *

"…What are you two doing?"

Black Hole cursed and fumbled the bucket he was holding, almost dumping it all over himself and his brother.

"Watch it, slaghead!" Spacespot cursed, shoving the other away from him before glaring at the new jet who'd appeared on the roof with them. "And both of you keep quiet!" He narrowed in on the new jet. "Especially you," he hissed. "We've been planning this for groons and if you screw it up you're dead, understand?"

The new Seeker gave them both an odd look, but nodded, saying nothing. Satisfied, Spot turned back to his brother, grabbing the other bucket of… whatever it was and joining Black Hole on the edge of the roof.

The newcomer drifted behind with a bemused expression, poking his head over the edge as well, just in time for the two cackling black Seekers to upend their buckets – full of slag and other goopy waste things - right onto the two groundbound Autobots passing below.

"My paint!" one of the mechs below screeched. The other was screaming obscenities at the Seekers, who were by now rolling around midair laughing themselves sick.

"You little glitches!" A blur of red shot up from the ground, revealing itself to be the red mech they'd dumped the slag on. He had a jetpack and a murderous expression. The brothers, still cackling, rolled easily into their altmodes and shot off.

The newcomer was unprepared for the Autobot to turn to _him_ with that same murderous intent. They stared at each other for a long moment, both tensed to run, and then the door to the roof burst open, revealing an absolutely _livid _yellow groundpounder covered with the same stuff as the red one.

Silvertrail decided that it would be best to run for it.

* * *

"Haha! Did you see their faces?" Black Hole cackled as he and his brother swerved through the air over the city, both still elated with their victory over the Lamborghini brothers.

"That was so great!" Spacespot cackled back. "That braggart Sunstreaker's had that coming ever since that stunt they pulled with the pink paint!"

"And did you see the look on Sideswipe's face?" Black Hole snickered.

"And they're not following us because that newbie got in their way and they thought he was with us!" Spot snickered back.

Then there was a scream of engines, a loud whoop, and a streak of cursing silver-white and red shot between them, almost hitting both of them. The brothers scattered, cursing, until they realized just what it was it was.

From the color of the jet, they assumed it was the newbie from before. And that red, whooping thing on his back…

"Slag, he's fast," Blackie said faintly, and if Spot hadn't been so absorbed in watching the new Seeker curse and roll and loop in a very impressive display of aerial acrobatics as he tried to dislodge the red menace holding onto him, he would have heard the envy in his brother's voice. As it was, he was feeling kind of jealous himself right now.

"Get off of my wings, you dirt-eating psychopath!"

"Dirt-eating? Oh, I'll show you how to eat dirt, you snooty little—!" Sideswipe gripped the silver-white wings even harder as the Seeker suddenly stopped, turning his nose to point at the ground while letting his momentum carry him forwards so that he was vertical, almost succeeding catapulting his unwanted passenger out into open air. But Sideswipe just barely held on, and was rewarded with an annoyed grunt and the Seeker flipping all the way over upside-down and speeding off that way.

He was going to give out another war whoop when the Seeker flipped sideways, and then into a series of tight, perfectly executed barrel rolls, thoroughly scrambling his equilibrium chip. The Autobot's cursing drifted back to the gaping brothers as the white Seeker dropped into a freefall, dipping and spinning so that he was pointed skywards and then shot right back up again, never losing a lick of speed or ever coming close to crashing.

"Holy…" Black Hole trailed off, totally awed.

"Pffft," Spacespot snorted derisively. "_I _could…" he trailed off, his jaw dropping, as in a display of agility and flexibility that was impressive even for a Seeker, the silver mech bucked upwards and twisted in Sideswipe's grasp while transforming. The Autobot barely had time to register that he was no longer holding onto a jet but a mech when that mech grabbed his head and threw him into the side of a building. He left a large, gaping hole in the window he'd crashed through, and angry shouts started drifting out immediately.

The white Seeker hung in the air, vents heaving and fists clenched, snarling at the smoking hole that the Autobot's impact into the building had made. Then he turned his head to glare at the two brothers - still floating in bipedal model and gaping at him - and his optics blazed and he roared with both his voice and his turbines as he launched himself at them with his hands outstretched.

* * *

Spacespot gave the newcomer a cold, evaluating look. After the silver Seeker had stopped seething and come down from his livid anger enough to realize that he'd just punched one of the two heirs to the Decepticon Empire in the face (Black Hole was now alternating between glaring at the newcomer while rubbing the dent in his face, staring at him in curious, wondrous glee, and fidgeting nervously), he had calmed down significantly. It was clear that he didn't have the usual volatile temperament that was so common to their type, and instead had an oddly... calming air about him. It was soothing, almost, unconsciously expanding out from him to wrap around the two darker Seekers, calming them both and soothing the rough edges where they melded together.

Spacespot and Black Hole, for all they were brothers and partners in crime and mischief, had frequent clashes of personality. They were just too different on some levels to get along perfectly (and did that ever make for some spectacular fights), and yet somehow this newcomer had, in the three brief joors he had been with them, made them mesh better together. Just by being there.

And that was just weird.

A sudden, almost detached coldness came over him and he recognized it as the odd floating sensation that came over him at the oddest of times. He'd never told anyone, except Blackie, about it because it didn't seem all that important. It didn't hurt anyone (at least… no one worth caring about) and often provided him with new insight in whatever situation he was in.

And, in this case, it was telling him that there was something familiar about the white Seeker. Not in that he'd met Silvertrail (the mech had introduced himself while Spacespot had been floating in his own head) before, but that there was something about the mech, about the way he acted, the way he helped the two darker Seekers meld together, that was very familiar, and he was surprised to feel a corner of his spark try to pulse out a welcome down a bond that was not (was no longer?) there.

Black Hole, now chatting cheerily away at the lighter Seeker about little inane things while the other was giving him a patient, bemused look, paused momentarily to shoot his brother an odd, questioning look. Spacespot shook his head sharply, silently communicating that they'd talk about this later, and his brother shrugged and went back to his mindless chatter.

Silvertrail, however, was giving him a weird look, as if he was trying to figure out what he was doing. Spacespot tensed, bristling defensively. He sneered at Silvertrail, who shrugged and turned back to Black Hole. Spacespot watched, still frowning, as the silver Seeker winced at the sight of the rather sizeable dent in Black Hole's right cheek. "I'm sorry about that," he continued to softly apologize, but not grovel, to the younger brother, silently asking for permission to come closer to examine the damage he had done. Black Hole hesitantly nodded and the paler Seeker drifted closer and began lightly running the tips of his fingers over the dent, seeming not to notice how wide Black Hole's optics were, and how flushed and nervous he was.

Oh Primus. Spacespot tried not to groan aloud. Black Hole was lost. Now they would _never_ be rid of the newcomer – Black Hole wouldn't let go of him even if Spacespot tried to separate them. The older brother snarled and stormed off, walking to the edge of the roof they had roosted on while they'd made their apologies and given their explanations (Silvertrail had been surprisingly forgiving over being used as an impromptu Jet Judo practice dummy), and jumped off, transforming and shooting away.

Dimly he heard Silvertrail ask what had just happened and Black Hole brushing it off as nothing before inviting the albino glitch to _come along with them_. Spacespot snarled and shot off, speeding away as fast as he could go. He was the fastest thing there was in the air, and no fancy-flying little newcomer was going to one-up him in this. Spacespot tuned out the rest of the world and focused just on the wind slipping over his sleek form, trying to get the silver Seeker out of his mind.

It didn't work, and he screamed his frustration into the wind. It didn't bother him how the speed at which he was traveling distorted it into a scratchy screech.

* * *

By the time the other two caught up to him, Spacespot had been lounging against one of the short walls on top of the main training arena for quite some time. His irritation had died down some, but it was still bubbling close to his plating, simmering in his circuits.

It flared up when, in their landing, Black Hole stumbled slightly and thumped into Silvertrail. Silvertrail grinned and moved an arm around his shoulders to tip him upright, and Spacespot could feel the heat (not flight related, oh no) rolling off of the both of them from all the way where he was. But the irritation was… different, tempered by something else, some sort of something that was almost like longing, and something that ached liked the ache you felt when you had lost something and now it was dangling in front of you, right out of your reach.

This was ridiculous. Spacespot shook off the bothersome emotions and stomped forwards, grabbing Black Hole's elbow and wrenching him out of Silvertrail's grasp. The taller Seeker's face twisted quickly from its usual peaceful neutrality into a snarl of its own and he quickly grabbed Black Hole's other elbow, jerking him - and Spacespot by extension - back towards himself.

"What is your _problem_?" he hissed down at Spacespot. Spot bared his denta in a snarl and pulled harshly on the elbow he held.

"I don't _have_ a problem," he hissed back. Silvertrail pulled them both back towards himself, ignoring how Blackie's elbow slammed into his stomach and how Blackie's wing almost smacked him in the face.

"Obviously you do."

"I do not!"

"_Yes_, you _do_! Now just tell me what's going on so that we can stop acting like sparklings!"

"_We are not acting like sparklings!"_ Spacespot shrieked, pulling harshly on Black Hole's elbow and ignoring his twin's pained cry as the movement finally succeeded in wrenching out several rather important wires.

Silvertrail's optics narrowed and he pulled back sharply. Black Hole, off balanced and stumbling because of the pain from his other arm, tripped and slammed all the way into the silver-white Seeker, pulling Spacespot with him, and all three went down in a shouting, screeching pile of black and white limbs and wings.

Spacespot flipped out the second they hit the ground, immediately thrashing and flailing and screeching horribly as he tried to kick the others off of him and untangle himself and get free. Silvertrail, meanwhile, was trying to at once shield himself and Black Hole from Spacespot's flailing limbs, untangle himself, and grab Spacespot before he flew off. Poor Black Hole was just trying to not get hit too much (plus in all the confusion he could totally drape himself over Silvertrail and grope certain parts of him and it all went unnoticed.)

Finally, just as Spacespot thought he had managed to get free, Silvertrail rolled over him, throwing a leg over his waist to straddle him, and pinned him to the ground with his knees on his wings and his hands on Spacespot's wrists.

"Now," the white mech panted, optics still narrowed down at him. "We are going to talk this out…. like the mature adults… that we are. Agreed?"

Spacespot snarled at him and lunged up to sink his teeth into a piece of white metal. "Go to the Pit!" He growled around his mouthful, glaring up at the other as best he could. Silvertrail's face twisted in a pinched expression of pain that was not all that unattractive, and he let out a low hissing sigh of air through his vents and very carefully edged his knees back off of Spacespot's wings and waited for the other to release his chew toy.

Just to remind the other that he really didn't have to let go if he didn't want to, Spacespot took his time, keeping their gazes locked even as he gnawed lazily on the piece of abdominal plating in his mouth. Silvertrail gave a low hiss again, and narrowed his gaze. They stayed locked like that for several long moments, and then Spacespot unclenched his jaw and leaned back so that he was supine under the other, still glaring.

Silvertrail released an almost-shaky sigh and shifted off of Spacespot, offering him a hand up once he was on his feet. Spacespot glared suspiciously at the pale appendage, but that odd little niggling in his spark urged him to take the hand and so he did.

And ended up pinned to the wall for it.

While he thrashed and spat and tried to fight back, Silvertrail had gotten smart and had pinned him face-first with his hands held securely behind him. Bereft of using even his dentae as a weapon, Spacespot eventually had to admit that the other mech had gotten him.

"Fine," he spat. "What do you want?"

"You don't like me-"

A derisive snort. "No, really? What gave you _that _idea, bolt-head?"

"Let me finish. For whatever reason, you don't like me. Whatever. Just, if you want to get torqued, don't drag Black Hole into it. You hurt him."

The concern in that voice skewered right into Spacespot's spark and he stiffened. "_Get off_," he hissed. The grip on his hands tightened.

"No. Do you agree?"

"The slag I do! What do you care if Blackie gets hurt?"

He must've been pretty flustered, to let the bitter, aching hurt show through like that. Silvertrail's grip tightened and then loosened, and then slipped off altogether. Spacespot jerked his wrists out of the other's hands and turned to face him, rubbing his wrists while glaring half-sparked at the floor. Then there were gentle hands on his chin, tipping it up to Silvertrail's, which was quite a bit closer then he remembered.

"I care if you get hurt, too," Silvertrail said softly. "I don't just care about Black Hole and his wellbeing; I care about you too, Spacespot." He released the elder twin and backed off a bit, back towards the edge of the roof. "But it's obvious you don't want me here, so I'll just-"

There was the sudden sound of thrusters and Silvertrail suddenly became aware that there was someone right behind him.

"Oh, well _hello _there~"

Silvertrail wondered why Spacespot and Black Hole twitched at that oil-smooth voice, but then there was an arm around his shoulder, twirling him around, and he was suddenly nose-to-nose with an electric blue Seeker.

"Um…hello?" He blinked in surprise, too surprised by the sudden closeness to think of trying to get away yet.

The other mech leered. "Haven't seen you around here before."

"I'm new here. Just got transferred from Polyhex."

The leer intensified, but the mech backed off and slid an arm through one of Silvertrail's, not letting him escape very far. "So that means you're trineless for the time being, correct?" The blue mech purred, still leering, dragging one finger down the edge of Silvertrail's wing. Silvertrail twitched, but didn't quite manage to jerk his wing out from under the unwanted touch.

"…that would be correct," he said warily, orange-red optics narrowed at the other Seeker.

The Seeker leered. "Well, I just happen to have an opening-"

There were suddenly _more hands_ on him, grabbing him in places he _really didn't want to be grabbed _and suddenly he had been yanked out of the blue Seeker's grasp only to find himself trapped between two darker bodies.

There was a black arm firmly around his waist, a chin resting on each shoulder, and two other arms curled possessively around his wings.

"Bwuh?" he managed intelligently. Spacespot and Black Hole didn't even look at him, instead glaring venomously at the now sour-looking blue Seeker.

"_Ours_," they hissed, hands tightening on the lighter-colored mech.

"Back _off,_ Vapoursprial," the brother to his left hissed.

"He's _our _third now, not yours," the one on the right hissed.

Vapourspiral bared his denta at them in a snarl, gave Silvertrail a look that said This Wasn't Over and promptly turned and took off.

There was silence between the three of them until the electric blue jet disappeared. Then the tension drained out of the brothers, but they remained latched around their newly claimed third.

Silvertrail just realized he'd been roped into being their third. Strangely enough, he didn't find himself all that opposed to the idea.

"You could've asked me, first," he said mildly, looking down at the arm thrown possessively around his waist and wondering if it was worth the effort to try and remove it.

"Why should we have?" Spacespot asked snootily. "We're the princes of the Decepticon Empire. What we want, we get." The arms around his wings tightened, and Silvertrail realized that those were the ones that belonged to the older twin.

"And what we want," Black Hole purred from lower down, nuzzling his side, "is you."

"You're not objecting, are you?" they asked as one, mixed voices threatening. Silvertrail thought about it, and then relaxed back into their hold.

"Well… this is quite a turn around from just about biting my cockpit off and telling me to go interface with a cleaning bot." Silvertrail's voice was dry and sarcastic, but there was real humor beneath it, plus the way he was relaxing back into them and pressing his wings into the hands that were trying to stroke them were both positive signs that he'd accepted. "What changed your minds?"

"You mean Spot's mind," Black Hole muttered, slinking around to the front to drape himself over their new trinemate while Spacespot did the same from the back. He grinned and leaned up and in to nuzzle the pale faceplates of the other. "I wanted you in from the start."

Spacespot reached around to whap his brother upside the helm, turning his purring into whining. "Shut up, stupid," he snapped, shifting and tightening his hold around Silvertrail's waist and looked embarrassed off to the side. "Vapourspiral is an aft, plus he is no where near as good a flier as we are. Well, me at least." Ignoring Black Hole's protest, he continued, almost bashful: "He also couldn't keep a full trine if his spark depended on it. The only reason Backlash is with him is because they're bonded. Poor, stupid sucker don't have a choice. So I'm doing you a favor, really, by accepting you into our trine."

Silvertrail was grinning. "So you've accepted me then?" he asked, mildly teasing. "I pass?"

Spacespot shifted uncomfortably. "Whatever. I guess," he grumbled, embarrassed. Black Hole gave an elated whoop and threw his arms around both of them, nuzzling into Silvertrail's front.

"We're a full trine!" he crowed. "Finally!"

"Yeah," Spacespot whispered softly, tucking his face into the crook of Silvertrail's neck. "I've missed this."


End file.
